


Jacaranda

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Cruel Intentions AU, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way the game works is this: if James can seduce a target, he gets a kiss. If the target's a real challenge, he might get more. He's never gone after anyone as tough as Kendall. Not once. Not ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The jacaranda trees line half the streets in the neighborhood, clouds of lavender and indigo. He crushes fallen blossoms beneath his feet as he walks, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The air smells like flowers, fragrant and cool in his lungs. Up ahead, the hotel looms, a stately building with latticework balconies.  
  
It’s all very picturesque. His dad obviously had nothing to do with booking the place. The man could care less for scenery; he’d be every bit as comfortable in the No-Tell Motels that line the Pacific Coast Highway as he would be in this little slice of quiet suburbia.  
  
James snorts and stomps onward, relishing the thud of his boots on the pavement, interrupting the otherwise quiet street. When he reaches the lobby, he doesn’t spare a glance for the tasteful art deco interior. He doesn’t stop to talk to the concierge. He already knows where he’s going.  
  
He stands in a black and white hallway for ten minutes, knocking out the beat to a Smoky Robinson song against thick, solid wood. James is rapping out a new tune when his hand hits empty air. His stepmom’s standing in the doorway, dressed in nothing but her lacy underwear. She steps back, letting James inside, and he watches her butt while she makes her way back to flop onto rumpled bed, pristine comforter falling to the wayside.  
  
She’s not a traditionally pretty girl; her face is broad, jaw strong, and all of it perfectly symmetrical. Her eyebrows are always plucked into arches, and she’s never without this matte lipstick that makes her look like an old school movie star. She’s all long, athletic limbs and coppery skin, and James can see the outline of her muscles as she stretches.  
  
Those muscles let her run like the wind. James knows. He’s spent the past three years chasing her.  
  
He tries to look away. The hotel’s pretty nice; floor to ceiling windows letting in all this Northern light, plush carpeting, and sturdy wooden furniture, carved for that extra hint of elegance. The TV’s a plasma, great long Windex streaks running across its glossy surface. On the screen, the sky reflects back electric blue and deep fuchsia.  
  
“I hate this heat,” James’s stepmom says, stretching long and lithe against the bed. “It makes me feel so-“ she looks up at him suggestively “-restless.”  
  
Her voice is throaty, roughened by cold winters and too many cigarettes. James’s mom says it sounds like a warning, but Brooke Diamond speaks honey sweet, and she’s spent her entire life trying to perpetuate perfection. She doesn’t understand that there is a certain beauty to damaged things.  
  
James’s stepmom’s voice is like that; simultaneously hard edged and sexy. It resonates in James’s bones.  
  
“I can help you with that.” It’s a blatant come on. James settles on the side of the bed, stroking his fingers over her ankle. She grins, cat eyes and the assuredness of a girl who is used to getting what she wants.  
  
James smiles the same way. This is familiar territory. He inches his fingers up her calf, past her knee, waiting to see if she’ll cave or if she’ll stop him. Her lips quirk, and she halts his fingers when they’re pressing high into her upper thigh. “You’re father’s going to be back soon.”  
  
James rolls his eyes. He loves his dad. A lot. He really does. But it’s hard to take a man seriously when he marries his son’s ex-girlfriend.  
  
“Diana,” he pleads, testing the strength of his finger tips against her hand and her resolve. “I’ll make you feel so good.”  
  
She crooks a finger at him. “Don’t be cocky. It’s unattractive.”  
  
James makes a disparaging noise. He sprawls across the king sized bed, half of his body pressed into half of hers. “No it isn’t.”  
  
“You and your father. Does your self confidence ever falter?”  
  
“Why should it?” James leans forward and nuzzles at her neck, nipping soft at the skin there.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“What? You used to like it.”  
  
She rolls her eyes and pushes him away, the movement playful. “You’re such a little boy.”  
  
“I’m barely four years younger than you,” James scoffs, trying to surge forward again. She holds him off, and he respects it. He’s so used to playing this game.  
  
James met Diana when he was in high school, running track on a day when the sky had ripped open, rain hitting the ground like artillery. It hurt against his skin, but James was waiting for his dad to pick him up from hockey practice and the man never liked getting out of his car. He got bored though, standing in front of the gym. When he saw a girl racing like lightning through the mud, he couldn’t help his curiosity.  
  
She laughed at his dumb jokes and she had no idea who his mother was. It was enough to charm James into asking her on a date. She was eighteen, three and a half years older than James and at the time, it seemed, so much wiser. The first time they went out, she told him about all the ways she was broken, about how her family had gone to shit and how graduation loomed around the corner, but she had no destination in sight. She would look out at the horizon like she wanted to take it into her hands, like the world would belong to her if she could just get at it.  
  
Leaving Minnesota was her dream. They had that in common.  
  
It didn’t take very long, after that, for James to fall head over heels for this girl, this whirlwind of a person who seemed to know so much, who was so much more than James had ever dreamed of being. And she looked at him like he was something precious, like he was worthwhile. Of course he loved her.  
  
His dad ruined everything. His dad was very good at that.  
  
Mr. Diamond was an established businessman. He had a future, he had stability, and best of all, he had the kind of cash that Diana would never have to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, at least not until she was ready. It helped that he was an attractive man; James never worried about getting old when his parents had aged so gracefully.  
  
It wasn’t just about the money or the stability, of course. Diana isn’t a gold digger. She was just swept away in the whole whirlwind of a powerful man’s affections. James had been trying to win her back ever since.  
  
“I’m bored, Jamie. Let’s play a game.”  
  
“What kind of game?” James asks, because they have so many. “Is there chocolate sauce in the fridge?”  
  
Diana smirks.  
  
“Not the game I was thinking about.” She gives him a look, all half-lidded bedroom eyes and smolder and oh. James knows exactly what game she wants to play.  
  
“Last time we played, you said that it was too easy.”  
  
“Last time we played, it _was_ too easy. It’s not fair to sic you on these poor, delicate girls. They fold every time.”  
  
“It’s not their fault. I’m irresistible.” James grins, propping himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head to peer down at where she’s sprawled, dark hair haloed across a too-white pillow. He wants her so badly.  
  
“You think so?”  
  
Confident, James replies, “I know so.”  
  
Diana smiles, the expression feral. Her perfume is cloying. It’s this overpowering, syrupy sweet floral scent like the trees outside. She arches up, her mouth hovering close to James’s, and she breathes, “We’re going to put that to the test.”  
  
Then she pulls away, falling back onto the pillow. James slumps down onto the bed, stifling a groan. The stepmilf is _such_ a cocktease.  
  
Whining a little, he says, “We have put it to the test. Repeatedly. Dude, my friends are calling me a manwhore.”  
  
“And that’s completely my fault?” Diana raises a skeptical eyebrow. James sluts around even without her little challenges.  
  
“Alright, no,” James concedes, “But it’s no fun going after all these innocent girls. It’s like hunting bunny rabbits with a shotgun. I don’t want them. I want you.”  
  
“Didn’t I say this time would be different? We’re going to bag you a mountain lion.”  
  
Despite himself, James is interested.  
  
“What do you suggest?”  
  
“I’m thinking tall, blond, and, hmmm.” She licks her lips, crossing and uncrossing her legs while she draws out the thought. “Good at hockey?”  
  
“Dude, if you could find me a girl like that, I’d do it on my own.”  
  
“Oh, sweetie. Who said anything about a girl?”  
  
James doesn’t get it.  
  
“What?”  
  
Diana winks at him.  
  
He still doesn’t get it.  
  
“What?” he repeats.  
  
She smoothes a hand over his thigh, a sensual caress that makes him squeeze his eyes shut and wish he had more control over his hormones than he actually does. Scraping her nails against his inseam, Diana instructs, “Someone who really _commands_ your attention. Think about it.”  
  
James understands in flashes; a crooked smile and green eyes, dimples and the broad span of shoulders.  
  
“Kendall?” He asks dumbly. Diana nods, turning her face to give him a sly look.  
  
“You’re brighter than you give yourself credit for.”  
  
“But- dude. No. My friends are off limits,” James says, feeling a rush of over protectiveness. Kendall, Carlos, and Logan don’t know about any of this; not the ongoing fucked up relationship he has with his stepmother or the callous way he uses girls like chess pieces to get to the queen.  
  
He doesn’t _want_ them to know. Not ever. They’ll look at him like- James doesn’t want to think about it.  
  
Diana loops a leg over James’s thighs, pulling her body in close so that she can cuddle against his chest. “If you insist.”  
  
Well, that. That was too easy.  
  
“That’s it?” he asks suspiciously, burying his nose in the scent of her hair, all shiny and sweet.  
  
“That’s it,” she confirms. “The game’s all about seeing how far you’ll go, Jamie. If you’re scared, I’m not going to push.”  
  
Immediately, his hackles go up.  
  
“I’m not scared.”  
  
“It’s okay, James. I’m not judging.”  
  
James tries to figure out if this is some kind of trick that he’s supposed to be clever enough to figure out.  
  
“Fear has nothing to do with it. If I tried to-“ James worries at his lip, scraping his top teeth over soft skin. “-Kendall would hate me.”  
  
“So what you’re saying is that you’re scared of pissing off your best friend,” Diana mumbles into his pectoral muscle, laugh muted. __  
  
Yes.  
  
“No,” is what James says. He hates looking uncool in front of girls.  
  
He hates looking uncool in front of Diana even more.  
  
“Then what’s the problem?”  
  
It’s. Just. She has to see the problem here? What sane person wouldn’t?  
  
“Why a boy?”  
  
“Boys are the new frontier. Don’t you want to pioneer some new territory?”  
  
“But- can’t it be some random guy?”  
  
“James,” Diana strokes her fingers down the side of his face, feather light. “You’re so pretty. Possessing a penis isn’t going to make someone immune to your charm.”  
  
“Heterosexuality might,” James points out. Diana snorts.  
  
“Maybe,” she singsongs, “But won’t it be so much more challenging if it’s someone who knows you? So well that they’re not even interested?”  
  
“Hey. He could be interested.”  
  
“He’s not.”  
  
James wants to argue, but she’s got a point. The girls who’ve captured Kendall’s interest romantically are usually way less shallow and self absorbed than James could ever hope to be. They’ve also never punched him in the jaw over a stolen slice of pizza.  
  
“Why him? Why Kendall?”  
  
Diana purses her lips. “Because Logan and Carlos are half in love with you already. It wouldn’t take much.”  
  
“They’re my friends.”  
  
“Do you want your friends, or do you want me?”  
  
If it came down to it, it wouldn’t be a choice. James loves Diana, but he’d give her up in a heartbeat if it's for his buds. The thing is, he’ll never have to make that choice. Even if he does this. Even if he hurts Kendall this way.  
  
After all, there’s nothing that James can do that his friends won’t forgive.  
  
“What do I get when I win?”  
  
The way the game works is this: if James can seduce a target, he gets a kiss. If the target’s a real challenge, he might get more. He’s never gone after anyone as tough as Kendall. Not once. Not ever. He figures if he’s going to put one of his oldest friendships at risk, he deserves more than a simple consolation prize.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean I’ll do it. But you have to give me something in return.”  
  
“I always do.”  
  
“The usual isn’t going to be enough.” James strokes a finger over her stomach. “Make love to me. I know you miss it.”  
  
“James.”  
  
He huffs a sigh. “No sex, no deal.”  
  
After all, Kendall won’t be caged. He won’t be content to let James wrangle him into a fling. He’s golden and proud. Diana has it right; he’s a mountain lion, and James is going to have to shoot to kill.  
  
Diana peers up at him from beneath her eyelashes, all sooty and full of lust. Her lips curve into a feral grin and she purrs, “Fine. Make him fall in love with you James. If you do that, I’ll do _you_.”  
  
She arches up like she’s going to kiss him, but James knows she’s just teasing again. He hops off the bed, clapping his hands and saying, “Great. So I have to get to the studio.”  
  
“Already? Your dad’s been gone _all day_. Can’t we just, I don’t know, hang out until he's back?”  
  
“I have to go,” James replies, and he looks away. He doesn’t want to see her disappointed. His hands clutch into involuntary fists, because how could his dad drag her out here and abandon her? James dreams about putting his fist through his dad’s face sometimes.  
  
The Diamonds: putting the fun in dysfunction.  
  
James leaves the hotel room, leaves Diana sprawled on the bed in her air conditioned haven. He makes his way out onto street, with the jacaranda trees and the relentless sun. A heat wave is rolling into California; that’s what all the news channels say.  
  
Okay, that’s what Logan says, because James doesn’t watch the news. But he can believe it. The air smells like sulfur and sewage. It tastes like cooked cabbage on his tongue; cooked cabbage and the heady perfume of flowers.  
  
James shoves his hands in his pockets, wondering if, when this is all over, he can tell Kendall that the heat’s to blame. Mr. Garcia told him once that hot weather drives people crazy. Murder rates go up. People start driving like psychopaths. Theft shoots through the roof.  
  
If the sun can be used as an excuse for shooting your neighbor, why not fucking your best friend?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lied when he said that pursuing pretty girls was anything like hunting. It’s so much better. It’s more like a relaxed chase, a jog, even. No challenge. And he likes that; jogging is something he’s good at, something he enjoys, even. He’s an awful hunter.
> 
> No one chases Kendall Knight, or at the very least, no one ever catches him.

It’s midsummer, and it’s just so damn hot. People live in Southern California for the dry, arid heat, the kind that kisses your skin like a soft breeze without ever really making its presence known.  
  
When the temperature spikes, sweat starts beading in the contours of James’s abdomen, pooling in the hollows of his collarbone, but even when it’s turning his throat to desert sands, it’s never usually this bad. Today the warmth has touched down hard in a cloud of east coast humidity, rare as a solar eclipse in these parts. It’s the kind of hazy heat that muddles a person’s mind, searing them to the bone. Even the flowers are wilting, from the sweet scented jacarandas to the exotic birds of paradise that are so distinctive to the Palmwoods. James can’t think, he can’t breathe, and he doesn’t want to do anything except nap poolside, where the blue of the chlorinated water almost looks oversaturated in comparison to the sun-bleached concrete. He stays out there until dusk touches down, turning the sky a periwinkle that radiates up into a deep blue, down into a gold-green where the horizon is lit by thousands of distant lights.  
  
In a haze, James wakes, recognizing Camille drifting around the pool like an old school Hollywood nymphet. She’s wearing a dress the color of red wine stained lips, and when she shifts, it sparkles like diamonds. She’s practicing lines, her mouth swathed in berry rouge, moving like she’s whispering alms.  
  
Guitar Dude is sitting by the fire pit, strumming out the chords to a melancholy tune that makes James want to return to sleep, to the place where he doesn’t have to deal with the sweltering heat or the way his brain won’t work quite right. Logan’s sitting at Guitar Dude’s feet, bent over a guitar of his own, learning how to make music with his fingers instead of his voice.  
  
He’s already good; Logan learns like he breathes.  
  
James sighs, pulling himself up from the chaise where he’s dwindled away his day, starting the trek up to 2J. Inside the apartment, Kendall’s mom has retreated to an ice water bath, and from the living room James can hear the soft sound of classic rock drifting out from her iPod dock. Katie and Kendall are sitting on the couch, absorbed in some drama about dysfunctional families on Showtime that James is reasonably certain involves way too much cursing and nudity for Katie to be eligible to watch. But much like James, Katie is used to getting her way.  
  
Even now, she’s got the remote control clutched in her hand in the event Kendall tries to make a play for it, and Carlos is standing behind her waving a notebook back and forth like it’s a fan. Her hair brushes against her shoulders like there’s an actual wind.  
  
Carlos perks up when James walks in, yelling his name and dropping his makeshift fan. He nearly leaps over, but with a sharp word, Katie has him stilled and back to his job.  
  
Kendall, though, is free to turn to face him.  
  
James feels a familiar rush of adrenaline. Time to get started.  
  
He lied when he said that pursuing pretty girls was anything like hunting. It’s so much _better_. It’s more like a relaxed chase, a jog, even. No challenge. And he likes that; jogging is something he’s good at, something he enjoys, even. He’s an _awful_ hunter. His dad took him along on a few trips as a kid, and even aside from the whole yuck factor of shooting helpless animals, there was always too much waiting. Patience isn’t James’s forte. But he thinks that he might have to dredge up those long lost traumatic memories of hunting trips, of nights spread out beneath the stars while his dad told him ghost stories, back when the man still had his respect, and days spent loading deer carcasses into the back of his classy pickup, the kind with a big, purring engine and shiny rims. Kendall won’t be a midmorning jog.  
  
No one chases Kendall Knight, or at the very least, no one ever catches him. He was the fastest guy on their school hockey team. He _is_ the fastest guy James knows, on or off the ice.  
  
“Hey, you’re back.”  
  
“Pool was boring,” James says noncommittally.  
  
Kendall grins. “I’ve been trying to get Carlos outside all day. Let’s do something.”  
  
“Too hot. Can’t move,” Carlos whines, even though he’s still fanning Katie like it’s his only job in life.  
  
“I’m done asking you. Let’s do something,” Kendall repeats to James, and James wants to parrot Carlos’s words back at the blond, but this distant, clear part of his mind whispers that he has a bet to win.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
Kendall’s eyes spark, like someone just flicked a switch inside his brain.  
  
“Anything.”  
  
Which is how they end up towing sleeping bags, a carton of crackers, two packs of chocolate, and a sack of marshmallows across a long stretch of sand.  
  
The bonfire pits lining the beach in Newport are mostly deserted. Even though it’s at least ten degrees cooler on the coast, it’s still too hot for anything like camping. But Kendall insisted, and James couldn’t figure out a reason to say no. He would’ve, if he’d been able to. He likes to tell Kendall no, just for the sake of it.

Only now, that's not allowed.

It’s the main problem with this whole deal with Diana. Kendall likes it when people defer to him, and the thing is, that’s never been how his relationship with James functions. When Kendall wants deference, or obedience, he goes to the other guys. Carlos is loyal to a fault, and the only thing a person needs to do to get him onboard with anything is to ask. Logan can be swayed by logic. And he’s not huge on confrontation, so if logic fails, he’s easy to bully into submission. It’s always been up to James to knock Kendall’s ego down a few notches whenever it gets too inflated. Kendall does the same for him, and its part of how they click. Their friendship has seamlessly worked like that for eighteen years.  
  
Until now.  
  
If James wants to turn their friendship into a relationship, he’s not going to be able to use his usual tactics; Kendall’s too used to him. He can’t come on strong, guns blazing. He’s going to have to hunt in earnest.  
  
He’s not as excited as he should be.

In the parking lot, dandelions peek up from the cracks in the pavement, and Kendall’s feet move around them conscientiously, even though he barely even glances down. James can’t help but stomp a few, white fluff flaking off on the bottom of his sandals.  
  
As they march turns from asphalt to beach, James tries to figure out a way to tactfully hit on Kendall.  
  
He’s not sure there is one.  
  
Kendall builds a fire out of kindling he gathered in the Palmwoods Park and old scraps of newspaper he filched from the hotel’s recycling bin. James pulls his knees to his chest and watches. It’s comforting, watching Kendall tend to the flames the same way he used to when they were thirteen, camping in the woods. Kendall has always been their designated fire starter; his dad taught him how to build the best ones. They don’t talk about that, though.  
  
They do get to talking about everything else; about life and girls and the studio. It’s so fucking hot. They strip down to their shorts and boxers, hanging their shirts over some idle driftwood. Kendall pulls the material for the s’mores out. They use a few spare twigs to melt the marshmallows, hands drifting too close to the fire at times, too close to the burning heat. James lets Kendall roast his after his first few tries. There’s more than one burnt lump of a marshmallow lying in that pit now.  
  
All the while, the conversation flows. They’re accustomed to each other’s company. They don’t need to have a topic to stay interested.  
  
James wishes Diana wasn’t such a sadist.  
  
“Our new choreography is ridiculous. That much pelvic thrusting is unnecessary in any situation that involves clothes.” Kendall says, and then nearly chokes on the s’more he’s trying to eat. “Oh god, you don’t think Gustavo will make us dance naked, do you?”  
  
James snorts. “Unlikely.”  
  
The new choreography is a little wild, but James likes doing crazy things. He likes doing whatever it takes to capture the attention of a million screaming fans. But-  
  
“At least you’re good at it.”  
  
“I am?” Kendall’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Are you admitting I’m better than you at something?”  
  
“No. But. You’re _good_. I can’t-“ James stands and does a demonstration. His hips are too stiff for the rolling undulations Mr. X has worked into their routine. He’s not a girl. He doesn’t have the curves for it.  
  
That doesn’t seem to matter for Kendall, who instinctively knows how and when to move. It makes his insides churn with envy. James is a great dancer. He’s been training since he was a kid, and he has all the technical skills he needs. But Gustavo was right, back when he first scouted the band. James doesn’t have any fire. Kendall though, he is fire embodied.  
  
“No, see, you move your hips wrong, like-“ Kendall stands and does a demonstration of his own, doing this circle with his hips that is a little obscene.  
  
He moves with a casual elegance, completely unaware of how each sway of his hips mimics the flames in the pit, completely confident in his own body. He’s always been like that, and James has always found it irritating. But now, when there’s nothing to compete for and no audience to watch, he thinks that Kendall really is talented. And weirdly beautiful.  
  
He isn’t sure if he’s thinking that because he’s supposed to, because of the bet, or if he’s thinking it because it’s true. He decides on the latter. It’s not like he hasn’t ever thought that Kendall was attractive before. It’s just, he never had any reason to acknowledge it.  
  
“Want me to show you?” Kendall’s hands dart out towards James and _oh hell no_. There’s this moment where he lets Kendall guide him, hips brushing slow against the back pockets of James’s pants, and he wants to lean into it. Sand squishes between his toes, the two of them mimicking the crackling flames, the roll and crash of the waves, just for that second. And then-  
  
“I’m good,” James squeaks, jumping so far back that he actually loses his footing, taking Kendall down with him. He lands on top of James’s body with a thud. All the wind rushes from his chest, and James is virtually blinded by pinpricks of white light on the backs of his eyelids. Yeah. Real smooth.  
  
Kendall coughs, choking on sand and laughter.  
  
“Dude, good job. We’re gross now.” Still laughing, he stands, brushing off his shorts. “Want to go for a swim?”  
  
“There are sharks out there.” James wheezes, clutching his chest and shuddering.  
  
“Suit yourself,” Kendall shrugs. And then he starts unbuckling his pants.  
  
James croaks. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Going swimming.” Kendall tosses him a smile and starts down the slope for the water, rolling into the coast. James looks at the sweat beading on the back of his neck, dripping down his back.  
  
Kendall is sexy. James has always known it, somewhere; the same way he knew that Kendall is beautiful. It was a distant itch in the back of his mind, one more stray idea he never really entertained. But now that he is thinking about it, he’s imagining what it would be like to press his tongue against Kendall’s spine, or what it might feel like to actually fuck him, rough and wild or sweet and slow.  
  
He bets that Kendall can give as good as he gets.  
  
James is a little bit shocked by how good the idea sounds. Maybe Diana had a better idea about what she was doing than he originally thought. He points his finger at Kendall, squinting over the slope of it to sight him and cocking his thumb like a gun.  
  
In his imaginary crosshairs, Kendall’s back recedes.  
  
By the time James shucks his shorts and races down the beach, Kendall is already waist deep in the water. The starlight, dimmed from layer after layer of hazy cloud cover and smog, still manages to sparkle on the surface of the waves, silver-white and lovely. Kendall, in the midst of it, has turned to a marble statue, carved of shadows and moonbeams. He’s laughing, splashing around in the midst of the current, hollering for James to follow him in. He kicks the crest of a wave, spraying James’s chest and thighs with water. It’s frigid against his skin, but it’s a good kind of cold.  
  
It warms too quickly in the muggy night, and James dares to take a step forward, toeing the water.  
  
“Don’t be a pussy,” Kendall goads him on. James takes another step forward, and then another. The water laps against his knees, and he stops, feeling naked and vulnerable. Sweat’s beading at his forehead, but his toes are numb from the cold.  
  
Kendall’s not prepared to wait for him to adjust, either. He lurches out of the water like a sea monster, lunging at James and pulling him in. They stumble back a few steps before falling, falling; everything with Kendall is about falling today. James tastes sand and salt and fondness in his throat.  
  
The last thing he sees before he crashes into the water is Kendall’s face, laughter and mischief and light enveloped by the water.  
  
The world goes all fragmented under the surface of the waves, and James pushes away from Kendall’s body. He twists against the currents, staring up at the blackness, pierced by the occasional spot of light. He holds his breath for so long that his lungs begin to burn, but he still doesn’t break the surface. It’s only an arm wrapped tight around his ribcage that brings him up. James splutters and gasps, breath cold and wonderful in his chest.  
  
“Dude, I thought a shark got you.”  
  
“No, it’s just- pretty.” James rubs at his eyes, salt water making them burn.  
  
“Pretty?” Kendall glances up at the sky. “I mean, yeah, it is, but couldn’t you-“  
  
“No. You have to look at it underwater. It’s beautiful.”  
  
Again, Kendall glances doubtfully up at the sky, and then he shrugs. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
He holds out his hand to James. “Okay.”  
  
They dive back beneath the waves, sitting cross legged under the surface and staring up at the sky through the viscosity of the surface. It shimmers like stained glass. The moon makes their skin glow luminous.  
  
When they break the surface, panting and spluttering, Kendall turns to James and says, “You were right.”  
  
“I’m always right,” James states simply. Kendall laughs, pulling an arm around his waist until they’re drifting in close, floating on their backs, toes pointed towards the moon. The waves are a lullaby beneath them, cresting gently and then settling them back down on top of currents that pull and push. They float away from each other and then back again, like their bodies have their own gravitational pull.  
  
At one point, Kendall’s so close that his mouth is hovering just millimeters away from James’s. He can feel Kendall’s breath on his lips, and he wants it. He wants Kendall to kiss him. He feels it in this visceral way, in the marrow of his bones. His whole body is vibrating with it.  
  
Kendall is looking at him, all wide-open and trusting, and James can’t kiss him. He can’t, but he wants to. All he has to do is lean forward, just another half inch or so and-  
  
Abruptly, Kendall pulls away. James feels like he sucked all the air from the world with that movement. He finds his footing there in the ocean and wiggles his fingers at James. “Time to go back in. I’m starting to prune.”  
  
James’s fingers clench into fists at his side. He can almost feel the heat of Kendall’s skin against his palms, so why couldn’t he do it? All he had to do was cross the distance.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks that he’s trying to rush things. That’s how mistakes happen. That’s how he loses the game.  
  
Obediently, he follows Kendall as he bounds back up to the pit. They dry off in front of the fire, salt drying and cracking over their skin. And then they curl up in their sleeping bags, flaps half back from the ridiculous heat, and fall asleep that way; watching sparks fly, embers climbing up to the stars. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has got a choice here. He can stop, or he can keep playing. Before, all of his ideas were in abstract; James thought about things like consequences, but they would never come to fruition if he didn’t actually act. But now he knows; he can take Kendall. If he wants him.

“Diana wants to go dancing.”  
  
“Diana-your-stepmilf-Diana?” Logan asks, barely glancing up from his laptop screen. His eyes reflect white, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’s working on a report for their science class.  
  
Actually, he’s working on _James’s_ report for science class and sulking all the while. He hates it when the guys refuse to do their own work, but in this particular instance, he lost a bet and has no choice.  
  
It serves Logan right, really, for ever thinking that he could beat James at Ultimate Flying Disc. James has reflexes like a tiger and now Logan is paying for being a cocky little boaster.  
  
He doesn’t look happy about it.  
  
That might be because the other part of the bet is that James gets to accessorize him for an entire week. Logan is not a fan of the skinny  
jeans. He says they chafe.  
  
“No, Diana the eighty year old cat lady in 5B. Of course Diana the…” James trails off. It’s not a secret that he used to bang his stepmom when she was just some girl on the school track team.  
  
It is a secret that he’s still trying to tap that. James isn’t sure if he’s supposed to acknowledge that he still thinks of stepmommy dearest as his favorite temptress out loud.  
  
“Diana’s in town?” Kendall asks from the kitchen over the roar of the blender. Carlos is at his side, holding down the top of the thing.  
They’ve been trying to replicate Kendall’s favorite pink smoothie recipe for over an hour now, with zero success. Their most recent concoction tasted vaguely like sardines. “Is your dad around?”  
  
“Obviously.” James rolls his eyes. Diana doesn’t go anywhere without her husband. That would be unseemly. It’s such an outdated notion; a relic from the days before women were allowed to vote. But propriety is something they cling to in Small Town, Minnesota. It’s a pastime, like hockey or swimming or the fall festival.  
  
California is so much more progressive.  
  
“Why can’t he take her dancing?”  
  
“Have you seen my dad dance?” James mimics his father on stage. It involves Elvis hips, but not a lot of rhythm. The overall effect is something like a cat trying to claw its way out of water.    
  
“I can’t tonight,” Logan says. “I’ve got to finish _your_ homework.”  
  
“Fair is fair,” James replies, more than a little smug.  
  
“Got a date with the Jennifers,” Carlos yells. The blender seems to be going haywire.  
  
“Does that mean you’re going to stalk the Jennifers?”  
  
“Yes. Yes it does.” Carlos replies. The top of the blender struggles against his grasp.  
  
“Carlos,” Kendall warns. “Don’t you dare let-“  
  
Carlos lets go. Pink explodes all over the kitchen; shades of cherry blossom and carnation and peony coating the cabinets, the floor, the ceiling, and their faces.  
  
James tries really hard not to laugh. He does not succeed. Kendall wipes the muck from his eyes and glares. Carlos licks his hand and says, “Yummy.”  
  
“So.” Tentatively, James makes his way into the kitchen. He dips a finger into the ice dripping down Kendall’s face and pops it in his mouth, smirking. “You up for hitting a club? Pretty please?”  
  
“Sure. Let’s go dancing,” Kendall says, rolling his eyes. He drops the glare and laughs a little at the mess he’s made, because Kendall is cool like that. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff.  
  
“For real? You’re not going to back out ‘cause you’re scared to show off your moves?” James teases, handing Kendall some paper towels.  
Kendall takes them, wiping at the muck on his face. James’s lips tingle. The smoothie tastes exactly like strawberries.  
  
“For real.” Kendall is smiling at James, like this whole thing’s a friendly challenge instead of a nasty trick. Beneath the reckless daring and the steadfast unwillingness to ever back down, James sees trust, loyalty; all the things Kendall gives him without question. “You should know my moves are awesome.”  
  
James thinks of the beach and the bonfire and the comfort of lying beneath the stars with his best friend. His smile turns brittle. He doesn’t like deception.

\---

  
Later that same day, James walks in the long shadows of trees, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk.  
  
He’s humming to himself, a song that isn’t really a song because he hasn’t written it yet. He will, one day. He makes that promise to himself over and over again in the still of the night; one day he will make music in every sense of the word. He will hold the notes in his hand and let them grow in his lungs; foster them into something true and real and beautiful.  
  
There are days when James thinks maybe he can’t do it; when he feels like he can never do enough or be enough. He’s living his dream and it’s still not right. But there are other days that leave him breathless, laughing and gasping and exhilarated by the pure joy of living.  
  
Today is one of those days. The sun is setting, the air tastes sweet, Kendall’s buying into his scheme hook, line, and sinker, and James is going to see the girl he’s in love with. What more can he ask for? He makes his way up to Diana’s hotel room, thinking about the night;  
about the game and the hunt and the chase. He doesn’t bother knocking.  
  
Diana’s in the middle of curling her hair, seated in front of her own reflection, challenging her own gaze. She doesn’t get up when James walks in, but a smirk ghosts over her lips. “So you got Kendall to cave?”  
  
On a normal day, it usually takes James minutes to seduce a girl. If she’s playing hard to get, it can be a handful of hours. Diana’s targets usually take a full two days, tops.  
  
It’s been three, and James hasn’t made a move. The closest he got was the other night, at the beach, when he’d been all for the hit hard and fast strategy. Obviously, that bombed.  
  
As a result, he’s being mocked.  
  
“Glad to see you’re finally making a move. Thought you were getting performance anxiety,” Diana enunciates the words, a wicked smile tugging at her mouth.  
  
“I don’t get performance anxiety.”  
  
The dying sun stripes his arm with light. It’s the only golden thing in the black and white bedroom.  
  
“If you say so. Your dad and I drove down to Coronado yesterday,” Diana changes the subject, her smile bright and shiny. James can see the edge behind it.  
  
“What’d he do now?” He drawls, flopping onto the bed.  
  
“What makes you think he did anything?” Diana unhooks a roller, a glossy lock of hair bouncing free.  
  
“When isn’t dad doing anything?”  
  
“James.” There’s this flicker of something across Diana’s face, bitten lips and sad eyes, a crease right above the bridge of her nose. She says, “You shouldn’t worry about me and your dad, okay?”  
  
James wants to say that he can’t _not_ worry. He wants to wrap his arms around Diana’s shoulders and hug her close; to tell her that everything’s going to be okay. But he doesn’t, because something about those words makes him feel young. There’s only three years of difference between their ages, but sometimes those three years feel like all of space and time; like growing up makes a person into a stranger.  
  
James wants to ask what she sees in his dad. What was the thing that separated the fifteen year old boy from the thirty something year old man-child, way back when?  
  
What separates them now?  
  
He doesn’t do that either. Instead, he turns his face into one of the pillows and watches as Diana takes out the rest of her rollers in silence.  
When she’s done, she turns to James. Her dark eyes are smoldering, but her voice is light when she asks, “Zip my dress?”  
  
She bats her lashes. She’s acting like a caricature of herself; being silly to get James to loosen up. He appreciates it. He’s happy-but-nervous about tonight. James hops off the bed, crossing the room in a single stride. He brushes his lips against Diana’s shoulder. Her skin tastes like the air outside, like jacaranda blossoms and the bright light of the sun. She tastes like summer in California.  
  
He zips up Diana’s dress and tries to relax.  
  
They leave the hotel near ten, ready for a night on the town. When they reach the lobby, dusk has touched down fully on Los Angeles; the sky is indigo. The stars are hiding. Softly, Diana instructs, “Make Kendall want you, James. Make him want you so bad it hurts.”  
  
James looks away. The problem with wanting someone that badly is that when it ends, it’s devastating. James knows that first hand. He doesn’t want to do that to Kendall. He’s not even sure that he _can_ do that to Kendall, who is strong and solid and is generally very practical about things like love.  
  
But James will try.  
  
Because he wants Diana in this completely desperate way.  
  
Because he still has the image of their last night together emblazoned on the back of his eyelids, an imprint of her body burning against his skin. He wants Diana so badly it’s _past_ the point of painful, and if he has to put Kendall through like, discomfort, to get her? He will.  
  
It’s not like James is going to destroy him; just fuck with his head a little bit. Kendall will forgive him.  
  
It’s the mantra that keeps James going. He nods. They step out of the lobby, out into the night, and Diana breathes it in.  
  
“I’ll race you,” she says, already sprinting off down the sidewalk.  
  
Even in heels, she’s fast; laughter on the wind, hair flying out behind her. James stares after her, stuck to the pavement. He remembers this from Minnesota, from the time when Diana belonged to him.  
  
He remembers endless days of chasing.  
 

\---

  
The club is loud and noisy, music spilling out onto the street. Kendall is already there, waiting for them. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, toeing the curb, and it’s kind of an awkward gesture, but to James it screams _fuck me, please_.  
  
He’s not completely startled by the idea. Since that night on the beach, James has been noticing how attractive Kendall is; more and more, every day. He thinks it’s the thrill of the hunt; of knowing that eventually he’s going to end up with Kendall’s skinny jeans on his floor if he ever wants to get inside of Diana’s Agent Provocateur panties.  
  
Which he _so_ does.  
  
“Kendall.”  
  
“Diana,” Kendall replies graciously. A smirk tugs at his lips, and James watches his eyes trace the swell of her cleavage before snapping back to her face.  Slyly, Kendall says, “You’re going to buy us some beer, right?”  
  
“I think not,” Diana purses her lips. The expression makes her look coy, which is probably what she’s aiming for.  
  
Kendall’s nose wrinkles. “Come on. James, what’s the use of having a hot young legal stepmom if she won’t get you drunk?”  
  
“Oh, I’ll buy him beer.”  
  
“Hey!” Kendall is supremely put out. His lower lip is jutting further than James has ever seen it, and he looks like he might have a legitimate tantrum. James thinks about catching that lip between his own, about sucking it into his mouth and running the tip of his tongue over the skin.  
  
He’s going to seal this deal, tonight.  
  
He just needs some liquid courage.  
  
“You drove,” Diana points out. Like she even cares. She’s just worried it will be easier for James to take advantage of Kendall when he’s under the influence.  
  
“Aren’t you all responsible?” Kendall asks grumpily. Diana flashes Kendall a grin. She leads them inside of the club, all pounding bass and flashing colors. James’s fingers tap against his side, letting the music sing in his bones. He wants to dance.  
  
He always wants to dance.  
  
With a wink, Diana wends her way through the crowd of sticky, sweaty dancers with their luminescent strobe-light eyes. She’s making a beeline for the bar. Kendall turns to James and pouts, “You know I just came for the beer, right?”  
  
“Dude, I’ve got you. We’ll share.”  
  
And he does share. Beer after beer; James slips sips to Kendall, who is driving, but who handles his liquor like a pro. By the time they get out of this club, James figures it will be so late that all the alcohol will be out of his system anyway. He finds a spot near the middle of the club floor and just goes at it, moving and shaking and twirling until he feels like he’s not a single person anymore; he’s part of the crowd.  
  
He forms this awkward little dance triangle with Diana and Kendall.  
  
The awkward is mostly because of Kendall. Diana dances like no one is watching. By contrast, Kendall’s moves are almost shy; he’s bopping his head and swaying from side to side without ever letting any real talent shine through. It’s nothing at all like the way he swung his hips at the beach last week. It’s as if he’s not even comfortable in his own skin.  
  
James can feel Diana urging him on with her eyes and her elbows; she keeps hitting him in the side like it’s some kind of _mistake_. It’s not, and James gets the hint. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. Being able to admit that Kendall’s kind of a hotass doesn’t make crossing the line with the guy any easier. James has got countless nights of sleepovers and hockey games and camping trips standing like a barricade between him and Kendall, and he has no idea if he’s supposed to vault over or charge through all of those memories to get to the other side. So he puts up with the elbows and the dirty looks and tries to focus on the thrum of the music in his veins and his bones; a hum under his skin.  
  
Diana, of course, lays into him about it. She forces James to leave Kendall in the middle of the dance floor under the guise of getting more beer. “What are you doing? Is this how you seduce people now?”  
  
“No,” James scoffs.  
  
“Then what?” She leans in close, her breath hot on the shell of his ear. “Don’t want to play anymore, Jamie?”  
  
James hates that name. It’s what his nanny called him when he was six, and it was always followed by a lot of hair ruffling and cheek pinching. He lets Diana get away with it because she’s sexy, and because he wants her, but right now? He’s kind of not feeling it.  
  
“I’m still in the game,” he tells her. “Just- you need to give me some space to breathe, here. I can’t focus on Kendall when I’m watching you dance.”  
  
Diana grins. “Well, go dance with _Kendall_. I’ll stay up here,” she presses her body in tight to James’s, grinding against him for this single electric second. Then she backs off. “Happy hunting.”  
  
James gives one last, longing look at the line between Diana’s heeled foot all the way up to where her thigh disappears into her micro-mini. Then he pushes his way through the crowd. At first, he just dances. The beer makes James feel loose and sparkly, and a little bit lazy. He drapes himself across a pair of girls in skyscraper heels, relishing the way they giggle and blush.  
  
“You’re cute,” he tells them, because it’s true. But his eyes are glued to Diana up near the bar, to the undulating motions of her hips and the bare place where her throat is exposed. When he was younger, James used to like to fuck Diana from behind, to kiss the nape of her neck and whisper dirty things into her ear until she clenched up tight around him, completely losing it. He buries his head in one of the flirty girl’s collarbones, trying to drown out the image.  
  
When he lifts his head, James sees Kendall mouth something that looks suspiciously like _manwhore_.  
  
All it’s going to take to get Diana on all fours in front of him are three little words from those insolent fucking lips.  
  
James lets go of the girls and dances back over to his best friend, whose attention he’s already lost to some coed in a tight skirt. James has got a mission here.  
  
He creeps up behind Kendall until he can rest his chin on his shoulder. Kendall stiffens, his whole body going ramrod straight. James murmurs into his ear, “I know you’re a better dancer than this.”  
  
When he realizes who it is, Kendall’s shoulders slump. James thinks about kissing his earlobe, because Kendall has no right to view him as harmless in light of the things James has planned for him, but he holds himself back. He’s got time.  
  
“There are all these people,” Kendall explains, tearing his attention from Mini Skirt girl. “And they’re watching.”  
  
James laughs. He can’t help it. “We dance for stadiums full of people.”  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
“Yeah? How?” James challenges. Kendall looks at his feet.  
  
Stubbornly, he says, “It just is.”  
  
“Right.” James wraps his arms around Kendall’s shoulders.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Dancing.”  
  
“With me?” Kendall gives him this bewildered look. With Kendall’s eyebrows and famous lip curls, he’s really good at bewildered. James snorts and sways, their bodies just barely touching.  
  
“Is that a problem?”  
  
“You won’t take pointers on a deserted beach, but you’ll get all cozy with me in the middle of a crowded club? You weirdo.” Kendall’s dimples stand out in stark relief against his cheeks; lit red and blue and green as the club lights flash.  
  
“Hey, this place is _way_ darker than the beach. No stars,” James says vaguely. And no intimacy. There’s no risk that James is going to lose himself here. He can barely make out the shape of Kendall’s eyes; much less the color or the things that lie inside of them. That’s what he thinks, at first. But the longer they stand there, swaying in the middle of all these thrashing bodies, the easier it is for James to forget himself.  
  
Kendall’s regaining his rhythm; they are becoming the ocean waves and the bonfire flames. Amongst a crowd of hundreds, James’s vision narrows down to a single person.  
  
Again. Fuck.  
  
James takes a shaky breath, and that’s when Kendall pulls back from his grip.  
  
“Alright. Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Kendall crosses his arms. He does not look amused.  
  
“Like what?” James asks, puzzled.  
  
“Like I’m a girl and you want to kiss me,” Kendall’s voice pitches up and then down and then up again; exasperation and something like worry coloring his intonation. Which is totally uncalled for. Yeah, James was extra intense with the focus, but he wasn’t aware that he was looking at Kendall like _anything_. He couldn’t have been, because he was too busy trying to separate himself from the memory of the beach and the reality of right now.  
  
Hey, he should probably use this opportunity.  
  
James thinks about it.  
  
James turns it down.  
  
Maybe Diana’s right. Maybe James is going soft, but- this is _Kendall_. James isn’t as comfortable with the idea of fucking with Kendall’s head as he thought he would be five seconds ago. No matter how much he tries, he can’t force himself to be okay with- with being _sleazy_ about it. If this is going to happen, it has to be organic.  
  
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to get you to dance.”  
  
“Nuh Uh, don’t even try to say I’m imagining it. I would love to dance, but it’s really hard when you keep smoldering at me.”  
  
Smoldering? James has to suppress his grin. Well.  
  
He really wasn’t trying to give Kendall bedroom eyes or anything. James takes that to mean he’s a sexy beast all the time. Not exactly new knowledge, but something James can work with all the same. Over Kendall’s shoulder, he spies Diana at the bar, talking to these guys. She meets James’s gaze, daring; mouthing _I want you_.  
  
Oh. James still tastes guilt in his mouth, but if Kendall misinterpreted his smolder, maybe he _should_ be striking while the iron’s hot. If Kendall’s into him, that is kind of actually organic, right? And if James pussyfoots around, who knows when he’ll get another chance?  
James takes a step forward, invading Kendall’s space. “Smoldering, huh?”  
  
“James Diamond, you stop it right now,” Kendall says in his authoritative tone. The one he only uses when he’s actually frightened. Not scared, just abnormally concerned. Normally, James would be doing whatever he could to hunt down what had freaked Kendall out and break it into smithereens, but as far as he can tell, the source of his fear is…well, him.  
  
Which he probably shouldn’t enjoy, but he kind of finds it thrilling. It’s not often that he catches Kendall off guard. He takes another step forward and exhales, purposefully, so that Kendall can feel his breath tickle the side of his neck.  
  
Kendall actually squeezes his eyes shut, like having James so close is painful. “Don’t.”  
  
“Don’t what?” Kendall’s eyes flash open. He spins James around, and at first James doesn’t get what he’s supposed to be looking at.  
Then he sees Diana again, dancing on top of this like, pedestal thing with the same two college guys; both her age, or maybe a little older.  
Kendall murmurs low in James’s ear, “Don’t use me to make her jealous.”  
  
James actually laughs. Watching Diana dance with those dudes is like hot steel in his abdomen, slicing pain and an ache that is taking too long to dissipate, but he already knows nothing will come of it. Diana only plays the game with _him_. James grabs hold of Kendall’s hand and pulls him up around, spinning him. “I’m not.”  
  
Kendall blinks; storm cloud features and confusion. “Why are you lying to me? You’ve been hard up for Diana since she dumped you. Don’t try to deny it.”  
  
“Not denying it.” James says. He’s not going to lie when Kendall seems so adamant about defending his point. It’s a little embarrassing that James hasn’t hidden his raging boner for his stepmilf as well as he initially thought, but whatever. He can admit that he still thinks Diana’s hot without admitting he’s actively trying to bang her. The easiest way to lie is to tell partial truths. “But I’m not interested in Diana right this second.”  
  
Also true. Sort of.  
  
“I don’t-“ Kendall bites his lip. “What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m saying dance with me, dude. Don’t over-think this or you’re going to hurt yourself.”  
  
“You’re being weird.”  
  
“Am I?”  
  
“ _Yes_!” Kendall stresses the word, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at James’s face anymore. His eyes are caught, hypnotized by James’s hips. James is pleased. He may not be able to get the belly dancing choreography down, but this he can do. “Really weird. You’re, uh. Kind of up in my personal bubble right now.”  
  
“I am, aren’t I?” James muses. He presses in closer. In the midst of the crowded club, James smells wood smoke and the sickly sweet melted chocolate of s’mores and a hint of a sweeter fragrance; jacaranda blossoms on the wind. James can feel stale beer in the back of his throat, but Kendall’s breath is the crisp taste of the ice rink on his tongue. James can’t take it. So he does the absolute worst thing he can think of. He grinds up against Kendall, fitting their bodies together until there’s nothing but this slow, teasing friction between their jeans.  
  
“You’re absolutely shameless,” Kendall breathes, and he’s not moving. But he is getting hard. James can feel it, ridiculous heat permeating the denim of his jeans every time he bumps their hips together.  
  
Kendall doesn’t even look interested in dancing, now. He’s staring at James like he’s never seen him before. His eyes are flashing, flat black to pale green with every pulse of the strobe lights.  
  
James leans in close, lips hovering over Kendall’s. If Kendall wants it, he’ll cross the distance.  
  
Kendall says, “I want to go home.”  
 

\---

  
They’re sitting in the car. It smells like old coffee, with a vague hint of chili cheese fries. Logan is in charge of keeping the interior pristine, but he’s been busy lately, what with all that homework.  
  
Mostly James’s.  
  
Kendall is gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He’s in charge of taking James back to the Palm Woods. Diana’s still inside the club, dancing. But Kendall doesn’t seem super interested in driving right now. Instead, he’s staring at the wall in front of them.  
The headlight beams straight ahead, illuminating graffiti on white stucco. The paint is faded, more like a stain than an actual color.  
“What do you think you were doing back there?” Kendall asks, voice even. He’s pissed. James can hear it in the way his teeth are gritted, in the muscle jumping along his jawline.  
  
“Dancing?” James suggests for the thousandth time that night. He refuses to be cowed by Kendall and his righteous, saintly anger. He liked it. He liked having James pressed up against him. If he didn’t, he would have said something. If he’d said something, James would have stopped.  
  
Except James still feels like he crossed a line, and that bugs him. He stares at the door handle and tries to concentrate on something else.  
  
They take girls out on dates in the car, sometimes. There are guycode rules about fucking in a vehicle that all four of them share, but James has driven more than one female up to the hills, where Hollywood looks like a game of Lite Brite spread out beneath them. He’s taken more than one lover against the backseats, christening the leather with sweat and cum.  
  
He doesn’t even bother feeling guilty about it. He’s caught Kendall and his various girlfriends in the act more than once, because Kendall is only interested in girls who are fearless, even in the face of public indecency. And James knows Logan doesn’t really view any space as sacred when he’s in the heat of passion; that boy will nail a girl on any surface she’ll allow. In fact, it’s probably only Carlos who obeys the rule, and James can’t even be sure about that. Carlos gets around more than he likes to let on.  
  
That’s what James is thinking about when it happens.  
  
Kendall’s toying with the latch under the steering wheel, the one that lifts it higher or lower. He snaps it back, pushes the wheel up, and then in one deft move he’s out of his seat and on James’s side of the car.  
  
Actually, he’s in James’s lap.  
  
Their noses are all pushed up together, and Kendall’s eyes are flashing, something like rage and lust and disappointment all tangled up in his gaze. His elbow hits the radio, and now it’s blasting out a Top 40s song, bass pumping, making James’s ribs quake.  
  
“How do you like it?” Kendall snarls.  
  
Assuming he means the closeness? James shifts. He’s pretty into it, actually. Kendall’s more, um, intimidating than most of James’s conquests, but he’s still a hot body and a pretty pair of lips. James smiles, nonchalant. He probably looks like a total douchebag. He settles  
his hands on Kendall’s hips and doesn’t say anything at all.  
  
The headlights of the car reflect back off the stucco, washing out the darkness that cloaks Kendall’s body. Chunks of his features are carved in radiant light; an eye, a dimple. The curve of an ear and the jut of his chin. James squeezes Kendall’s hips, rubbing little circles into Kendall’s skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. Kendall shivers, and James can taste him, can taste his sharp exhalation on his tongue.  
  
At first, Kendall is watching James for a reaction when he kisses him. It’s like this slow motion trainwreck; the way that Kendall fists his hands in the collar of James’s shirt and pulls him forward, switchblade eyes and chiaroscuro features. James makes a surprised noise against Kendall’s lips, and that snaps everything forward.  
  
Kendall is ferocious. James doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Kendall is pragmatic about love, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever lacked passion or fire. He is a little bit wild and a little bit messy. He is completely and totally dominating James.  
  
And then he is pulling back. Kendall stares at James, breathing hard. He says, “That was wrong.”  
  
He scrambles off of James’s lap until he’s nearly pressed into the driver’s side door. He slams the palm of his hand into the radio dial, silencing some girl belting out a dance hit. His hands go back to the steering wheel, even more white knuckled now.  
  
Kendall drives them home in utter silence, which James likes. It gives him time to think. He licks his lips; beer and Kendall and Hollywood on his tongue.  
  
James has got a choice here. He can stop, or he can keep playing. Before, all of his ideas were in abstract; James thought about things like consequences, but they would never come to fruition if he didn’t actually act. But now he knows; he can take Kendall. If he wants him.  
  
Not that wanting Kendall has anything to do with anything; it’s all about Diana.  
  
Really. It is.  
  
James frowns at himself, fingers twitching in the air. He can’t shake the feel of Kendall’s skin under his fingers. He wants his weight back in his lap. He wants Kendall’s lips touching his again.  
  
Wanting Kendall should be a bonus. Diana has forced James into hooking up with more than one desperate, ugly girl. But for some reason, James feels odd. Like maybe this all would be easier if Kendall wasn’t so attractive. If he hadn’t felt like fire in James’s hands.  
  
Which is dumb, because James always has a better time with the hot girls.  
  
He makes a decision when they pull into the Palm Woods parking lot.  
  
“It wasn’t wrong.”  
  
“What?”  
  
James stares Kendall down. “It wasn’t wrong.”  
  
He kisses Kendall then, soft and chaste. It barely lasts a second. And then James climbs out of the car. Kendall doesn’t follow.  
  
All the way to the hotel lobby, James can feel Kendall’s eyes boring into his back.  
  
Now he’s committed to this.  
  
He’s going to take it all the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kendall likes him. James feels that inside, a bright warmth, like he’s swallowed the sun. His bones feel like they’re melting, turned to honey, and everything feels weirdly wonderful. To ward it off, James picks up one of Kendall’s plaid travesties, balling it up and throwing it right in his face.

The first time James and Diana had sex, they were talking about the future.  
  
James dreams about it. Often.  
  
“One day, we’ll rule the world,” Diana says, kissing James soundly on the lips.  
  
James can feel the light of daybreak pressing in around his room, but he bats it away, trying to focus on the dream.  
  
It’s his favorite dream.  
  
“Yeah?” James laughs, arms circling her waist. He wants it. More than anything, he wants to rule the world with this girl who makes him feel like he can conquer anything.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, except she isn’t Diana anymore. It’s Kendall lying across from him, Kendall who pushes up off the grass and straddles James’s hips.  
  
“Didn’t I give you everything?” He asks with a smirk, and this is no longer a memory, but Kendall’s right. Diana promised the world without delivering. Kendall handed it to him on a silver platter.  
  
“I’m the reason you’re famous,” Kendall continues.  
  
“So?” James challenges, meeting his green gaze head on.  
  
“So sing for me, Jamie,” Kendall cups his face between his hands.  
  
James leans up to kiss him, but his smirk is melting, transforming into Diana’s sure grin. He should have known; she’s the only one who calls him that.  
  
His phone rings. Light is pressing against his eyelids. James sighs and wakes up, the threads of the dream clinging to him like spider webs.  
  
“’Lo?” James asks, his voice raw from sleep.  
  
“It’s been a week,” Diana drawls. She’s chewing gum. James can hear the click and the snap of it.  
  
“I need more time,” James admits, shading his eyes. It really actually pains him to say that, but Kendall isn’t one of the flighty girls he usually toys with. He’s not going to drop the L word after some flirting and a kiss.  
  
“How much?” Diana doesn’t even sound interested. James can hear noise in the background and he would bet anything she’s got ESPN on.  
  
“Depends.”  
  
“On what?” She snaps her gum, purposely obnoxious. She loves it when James sweats, and he is, he’s desperate to hear if she cares.  
  
James glances to the left. It’s late, and Carlos is already out of the room for the day. He sighs. “You told me to make him fall in love. If you just want me to fuck him…?”  
  
He pitches the question just right.  
  
Diana snaps her gum again, and James hears a wild cheer, like whatever team she’s watching on ESPN just scored a goal. Then, slowly, she drawls, “I think not. All the way, James. Or the deal’s off. Is that what you want?”  
  
For a second, James is actually tempted to say yes. None of this sits right with him. But…  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Good.” Diana sounds pleased. “Oh, and your father wants to get dinner somewhere fancy tonight. You’re invited.”  
  
“Pass,” James snorts.  
  
“You’ve barely seen him this whole trip.”  
  
“He’s a douchebag.”  
  
“He loves you, James.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“He does,” she insists, and in an abstract way James knows she’s right. He doesn’t like to think about his relationship with his dad; the man always feels like this larger than life silhouette in the background of his mind. He has this vague recollection of being carried on broad shoulders and the sound of booming laughter, but it makes no sense. The father that James knows does not laugh, at least not at anything that James says. When James was a kid, yes, maybe his father was his hero, but now he is just this man that James cannot ever measure up to.  
  
James hangs up. He’s got more important shit to focus on, like how Kendall has spent the past week prowling around the Palm Woods in something like a rage. James catches his reflection in the blank screen of his phone and frowns. Still gorgeous.  
  
So what the hell is Kendall’s problem? He should be like, honored, to have kissed James. His pissy attitude is actually pretty entertaining, because Kendall refuses to admit he’s being anything like mad. He’s trying for stoic and strong, of course. People become the places they live in, and Kendall has always been ice and fortitude. But right now, he’s mostly fire and anger.  
  
At first, James didn’t even try anything. Fucking with Kendall is always an all-around good time. He made it a point to be everywhere that Kendall went, stalking him to the borderline of creepiness just so he could see Kendall’s bitchface. Kendall does great bitchface. Unfortunately, that turned on him, and now Kendall is avoiding James.  
  
In the beginning, James liked that too. It made him feel powerful.  
  
Now he’s just bored. It is still unbearably hot outside, muggy to the point where James’s insides feel sluggish and bloated. Tramping around the Palmwoods like he’s a part of a hotel-wide scavenger hunt, searching for a glint of blond hair and a clever smile has been his whole existence for the past week. James even routinely checks the air ducts, metal boiling hot beneath his fingers and knees as he crawls on through.  
  
Today he can’t rouse up enough interest to do that. Outside, the sun burns so bright it looks like it might take the whole city with it in a blaze of gold-orange flames. James stays splayed across his bed, one arm heavy over his eyes, the heat so thick and ridiculous that it’s made every part of him torpid and languorous. It’s much too hot for games, no matter what Diana says.  
  
He fools around, plays Angry Birds on his phone before deciding that even that involves too much movement. James hums to himself, lets music blossom in his chest, a thorned thing, rubbing his insides blood red. It makes him feel better, because that is what music does. Since he was small, James has used singing to get it out, whatever _it_ was, to vent the anger and the pain and the things he otherwise wouldn’t know how to articulate. James is not an eloquent person, but he can sing until his throat goes raw.  
  
He got it from his dad, who lives and breathes Hendrix and Cobain, Jagger and Lennon, but his dad never really got James’s appreciation for musical theater. Fuck him. James rolls over in his bed.  
  
His door is open just enough for him to see Kendall dart by with a basket full of laundry.  
  
“Gotcha,” he murmurs to himself or to Kendall’s retreating back, or to both.  
  
Maybe it’s because the haze of sleep is finally dissipating, or because thoughts of his dad make him angry in ways that pump adrenaline through him, but James manages to get up slow, stretching lazy and leonine. It’s not like Kendall is going to get far.  
  
The apartment door clicks closed and James is on his feet now, lips pulling back in a grin. Kendall has to be desperate for a hiding place if he’s planning on separating his own whites from his colors, and James likes that, likes that he’s backing Kendall into a corner, despite himself. The thrill of being closer than he’s been in a week takes the edge off his boredom. He whispers, “Go on, run for me,” like Kendall can actually hear it, like Kendall hasn’t rabbited into some hole, into the coin laundry room in the basement of the hotel. Now James has got a destination, a goal, and he can work with that.  
  
Sure enough, James finds Kendall in the basement, in the back room that smells like bleach and old gym socks.  
  
He knocks on the door frame and announces, “You really need to stop avoiding me.”  
  
Kendall nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m not avoiding you.”  
  
Pointedly, James says, “You’re doing laundry.”  
  
“I, uh, ran out of clean boxers,” Kendall shifts nervously, grabs at some dirty clothes so that he’s got something to do with his hands.  
  
“Isn’t that what your mom is for?”  
  
Kendall scowls at the t-shirt he’s got balled in his hand. “Thought I’d give her a break. It’s mother’s day in like…a year.”  
  
James snorts. “Just admit that you’re avoiding me.”  
  
“I’m not,” Kendall insists stubbornly. “I’m doing laundry.”  
  
James steps into the room, and Kendall takes a step back, and it’s like they’re dancing, except for the skittish, feral look in Kendall’s eyes.  
  
“You hate laundry,” James says, and there is barely a foot between them.  
  
It’s now or never. He’s getting more than a little sick of chasing Kendall around. James thinks they’ve both outgrown hide-and-seek.  
  
So he kisses him.  
  
Kendall’s reaction is immediate. He shoves James back so hard that James nearly trips over a pile of clothes.  
  
“Try that again and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Kendall warns, and even despite the red high on his cheekbones James believes him.  
  
James also does not care. “I don’t get what your problem is.”  
  
“You! Fucking you. Just leave me alone, already,” Kendall says.  
  
“You kissed _me_.”   
  
“That was dumb.”  
  
“I don’t think it was dumb. I think it was fantastic!” James protests, backing Kendall up until he’s pressed against the dryer, already running with someone else’s clothes. The vibrations shake through both of them. “So why can’t we try being fantastic together, again? It’s not like I’m looking to cuddle, dude.”  
  
“Did you ever think that maybe that’s the problem?” Kendall snaps, and then he turns red in earnest.  
  
James blinks. Kendall is a horrible hopeless romantic underneath all that bravado, but. He’s confused here.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Nothing,” Kendall replies, resolute.  
  
“That didn’t sound like…nothing.” James stops, reaches out, curls his fingers into the curve of Kendall’s cheekbone. Kendall’s eyes are bright, green like the moss that grew on the trees around James’s house back in Minnesota. He is so familiar. He is home. James tries kissing Kendall, fitting their mouths together in this way that is almost shy, completely chaste, and this time Kendall is not violent. He stands completely and totally still, letting James’s lips work over his own. He is barely breathing.  
  
James is about to quit, because he will not _force_ anyone to kiss him. Just thinking that Kendall really doesn’t want it makes his stomach clench painfully, like gravel rolling over and over again inside of him. But then Kendall moves, tentative at first, his tongue testing and tasting the skin of James’s lower lip. James is content with that, really, he is; he will treat Kendall like a skittish animal if that’s what it takes to move things along.  
  
Kendall has not gotten the memo. He mumbles something, a noise, a cry, a sob and wraps his arms around James’s neck, pulling him in so close that he’s all that James can breathe, think, smell. James pushes him back and up until he’s sitting on the dryer, until James is standing between Kendall’s legs, mouths crushed together, fingers fisted in the side of Kendall’s shirt. The dryer roars and rumbles, thudding against James’s knees.  
  
James is at the point where he’s beginning to think he will make Kendall beg; make him sweat it until he can’t even remember his own name. Kendall has different ideas. His lips are bruised red and spit slick. He’s breathing hard, and when he speaks, it comes out shaky. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to stop.”  
  
“Why? You like it.” James sucks on his earlobe, perfectly content with the way Kendall has turned all malleable under his fingers. His knees are tight at James’s hips, hands light on his waist. He doesn’t actually seem interested in anything like stopping. James wants to touch him, wants to shove his pants down around his hips and run his thumb over the slit of Kendall’s dick.  
  
But before he can do anything, Kendall demands, “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“I like you.”  
  
“No you don’t.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“No, you don’t.” Kendall argues, forever an adamant bitch.  
  
“Yes, I do,” James says, and his surprise is genuine, because he does like Kendall. Maybe not the way he’s trying to spin it, but enough that Kendall shouldn’t be arguing. “Why are you fighting it?”  
  
“You’ve never shown any interest in me before. At all. Ever.” He actually sounds a little…bitter. “So what is this? A game?”  
  
James swallows. He forces himself to lie, “No.”  
  
Kendall shakes his head, and he looks disgusted. James is still fitted between his legs, still hovering in Kendall’s airspace, but, gently, Kendall pushes him back. He hops off the dryer and says, “I’m not a pawn, James. Don’t treat me like one. Mess with whoever you want. Just- not me. I deserve more than that.”  
  
James hesitates. And then he says, “This isn’t a game.”  
  
It’s not the first time he’s lied to Kendall, but it’s the first time he’s honestly hated himself for doing it. The weird thing is, the words don’t even really feel like a lie. He just wants to kiss him again. James darts forward, sticks his hands in Kendall’s back pockets, squeezing his ass. He rests their foreheads together and says, “I’m not faking this, dude. I like you.”  
  
Kendall’s shoulders slump, and he takes this great shuddering breath that James can feel in his own lungs. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
“Why not?” James asks, genuinely curious. In his own humble opinion, James Diamond is the greatest actor the world has ever seen. Why isn’t Kendall totally fooled?  
  
“You’ve never shown an ounce of interest in me before.”  
  
“How do you know? Maybe you just weren’t paying attention,” he makes his voice playful, flirty, but Kendall isn’t having any of it.  
  
Seriously, he says, “I was, though.”  
  
James reels back, still attached to Kendall from the way his fingers are tangled in the back pockets of his jeans; it makes them both lose their balance, just for a second. “What?”  
  
James almost doesn’t want to know, because that might make things complicated, but he is also desperately curious. It isn’t often that Kendall fluffs his ego, and the idea that maybe he likes more about James than he’s ever said before is thrilling in this way that James can’t quite put his finger on. He says, “Kendall,” almost expecting Kendall to drop his eyes like a girl would, but it’s Kendall, and he’s never known how to back down.  
  
He meets James’s gaze head on and he says, “I was paying attention, so don’t try to pretend like this has been a long time coming, okay?”  
  
James feels like Kendall has slapped him, like he can feel the sting of skin against his cheek, like all his nerve endings are on fire. He stares and stares and stares, feeling hollow-eyed and raw. Kendall can’t mean…but if he does, then…James doesn’t even know. He’s too many things at once; shocked and ashamed and most of all, intrigued. He’s honestly charmed by the admission, by the way Kendall is always so freaky genuine, even when that had to have been a very scary thing to say.  
  
More than that, he’s enthralled by the idea that maybe Kendall likes him, and James hasn’t even had to do anything other than be himself. That’s not the kind of thing he takes for granted.  
  
Love has always been something he’s felt like he needs to work at.  
  
Carefully, Kendall reaches behind him and extricates James’s hands from his pockets. “I don’t know what kind of angle you’re playing, but…don’t use me, okay?”  
  
“I’m not.” James answers immediately, and he doesn’t even register that it’s a lie this time around. He twists his wrists so that he can catch Kendall’s hands in his, rub his thumbs against Kendall’s palms. He repeats, “I like you. A lot. I just want you to like me back.”  
  
“Oh.” Kendall’s eyes widen, and James wonders if maybe that light in them is hope. “Alright, then. Um. Attacking me with kisses probably isn’t the way to show me that.”  
  
“You started it!” James protests, breaking into a smile. He laces his fingers with Kendall’s until they are holding hands in earnest. He squeezes, and Kendall watches the movement, a little hypnotized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, um. Gotten aggressive. I guess. Even though you _liked_ it.”  
  
“James,” Kendall huffs.  
  
“You _did_. But…start over?”  
  
Kendall narrows his eyes. “How do we do that?”  
  
Easy, James thinks. Too easy. “Well, for one, you stop avoiding me. And two, I take you on a date.”  
  
He’s good at dates.  
  
“Um, I was avoiding you because you were stalking me.”  
  
“Was not,” James counters.  
  
“You were too! You hacked into my Scuttlebutter account, James.”  
  
“I did not hack anything, I’m not smart enough for that.” James shrugs, still holding tight to Kendall’s hands, and okay, maybe he took fucking with Kendall a little bit too far. “I guessed your password. And you blocked me!”  
  
“Because you were leaving me creepy messages! Stalking is not okay, James.”  
  
“I was not stalking, I was wooing,” James insists. Kendall makes a face, fluorescent lighting playing over the bridge of his nose, and James concedes, “Alright, I might have come on a little strong. I’m not used to you avoiding me. Usually, you’re always there when I need you.”  
  
“That still doesn’t make it okay.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And?” Kendall prompts. He’s doing that bitch face thing again. He really is entirely too good at it.  
  
“And I’m sorry, okay, ugh,” James sulks. “It won’t happen again.”  
  
“Good. And…if you ever need me, I promise, I will be there. So. Um. You said something about a…” Kendall actually does turn a little red when he spits out- “ _date_?” He looks mortified. “I’m not a girl, you know.”  
  
“Guys still go on dates. It’ll be great,” James promises. “I’ll take you somewhere really nice.”  
  
Kendall’s face falls a little. “Not that lame steakhouse you’re always taking slu- _people_ to.”  
  
“Not there,” James replies, even though he’d sort of been thinking of it. Whatever, he can adapt. “Where we go…it’ll be a surprise. It’ll be the best surprise ever.”  
  
Kendall cocks an eyebrow. “If you say so.”  
  
“I do. I’m going to go start planning right now.” James extricates his hands from Kendall’s, ready to march back up to 2J and start a serious google search on stellar date spots.  
  
“Actually, um. Could you help me with all this?” Kendall points to the laundry basket, looking a little bit terrified. “I think I’m dangerously close to turning everything pink and toddler-sized.”  
  
“Did you read the labels?”  
  
“…No? Is that something I’m supposed to do?” Kendall asks helplessly.  
  
Exasperated, James says, “Dude. This is what god invented moms for, okay? Did you even separate the colors?”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
“You get a freebie because I think you’re cute.” No such thing as laying it on thick if Kendall already likes him.  
  
Kendall likes him. James feels that inside, a bright warmth, like he’s swallowed the sun. His bones feel like they’re melting, turned to honey, and everything feels weirdly wonderful. To ward it off, James picks up one of Kendall’s plaid travesties, balling it up and throwing it right in his face.  
  
Kendall mumbles something through a mouthful of fabric. It sounds like a bad word.  
  
James claps his hands together and announces, “Right, so I’m going to go through this once and only once. Listen up.”  
  
Teaching Kendall how to do his own laundry ends up being kind of useless. After the third shirt to the face, he starts channeling Carlos and pretending he’s the flannel monster. He tackles James into the dryer, and that turns into wrestling, and that turns into an almost make-out session among the folds of Kendall’s dirty laundry. James restrains himself at the last second, because he kind of wants to see where this date thing goes. But when he pulls away, Kendall’s head follows his, just for a beat, like maybe he was waiting for a kiss that never came.  
  
James so has him exactly where he wants him.  
  
It is a flash of heat in his chest, in his heart; lightning and thunder and an oncoming storm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That day, Kendall was his hero. James would have given him anything in thanks, because a spoiled brat he may be, but he knows all about repaying debts. His mom, his real mom, raised him right.

“We are going on a _date_ ,” James declares from the hotel bed. It is still sweltering hot outside, but the air conditioning is blasting inside the room. James’s dad is out, because his dad is always out. James has only seen him twice this entire trip. But he can smell him, buried as he is beneath the comforter and sheets, wallowing in the cool air like a piglet in mud.  
  
In the bathroom, Diana snorts. He hears the clatter of her flatiron hitting the counter. “Is he going to give you his letterman jacket?”  
  
“Laugh all you want, but I am so going to win this bet. It’s just a matter of time.”  
  
“Right.” Diana calls back. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll have to get married before Kendall will drop his pants.”  
  
She dances out of the bathroom in a pretty flower print sundress. When she slips into her heels she makes a point of bending over so that James can see the lace of her thong. He licks his lips and snuggles deeper into the hotel bed.  
  
“Get out,” Diana orders in her bossiest voice.  
  
James waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or you could get in.”  
  
“That’s not the deal.”  
  
“Come on,” he whines, and he would never do this in front of any other girl, but Diana _knows_ him. She’s seen all of his good, and all of his bad. “I need incentive.”  
  
It’s like she doesn’t even need convincing. Diana climbs into the bed, crawls toward James on her knees, the dress riding high on her thighs. She hovers over the plane of James’s chest before planting her hand in the middle, the thickness of the comforter obscuring her heat. James waits.  
  
Taking her sweet time with it, Diana kisses his throat. Her teeth scrape against James’s Adam’s apple. The line of his jaw is her favorite place, and she lingers there, relearning the shape with her lips until James tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her up. Her breath tastes like coffee and oranges, like breakfast, with something underneath that is more familiar, more Diana. James shoves down the comforter and flips them. He pins her to the bed, hands on her wrists.  
  
Diana stares up at him with a mixture of defiance and impish delight, and James thinks that she would let him, if he tries it. He dips his head down, breathing her in. “Can I?”  
  
Diana tilts her chin up. “A date’s worth a kiss.”  
  
Her head arcs forward, and James strains down to meet her mouth.  
  
But.  
  
It would be so easy to spare everybody, to spare Kendall, right now. …It just wouldn’t be very much fun. James stops, millimeters away from his goal. It’s hard. They both thrive off of instant gratification, and getting what he wants would be very, very gratifying.  
  
“Seriously?” Diana demands, all ruffled and angry.  
  
Jams flops back on the pillow. “You’re the one who wanted to make this a game.”  
  
He watches Diana’s chest heave, the skin of her breasts splotchy over the neckline of her sundress. James threads his hand through her hair, pulling her head into him. When he thinks her blood has stopped boiling, he asks, “What are you doing today?”  
  
He didn’t think that would be the question she’s been waiting for, but Diana spends twenty minutes warming back up to James, until she’s full on babbling ecstatically about all the things she’s going to see; from Grauman’s to the winding streets up into the Hollywood hills. She’s more animated than James has seen her in ages, excitement a tangible aura around her.  
  
James was just like her, once. He remembers sitting on the plane while it taxied in Minnesota, bouncing up and down in his seat. Kendall had to put a calming hand on his shoulder. Softly, he’d said, “Whoa, there. It’s a long flight.”  
  
James can still hear his gentle laughter in his ears.  
  
Now he’s been on two international tours and crossed America at least five times. In the past few years, he’s seen more than he ever could have dreamed. James is living exactly the life he’s always wanted. But Diana is still the starstruck kid, stuck in Minnesota for ninety percent of the year.  
  
Hollywood must sparkle to her.  
  
It strikes such a deep chord inside of James, fondness and longing and affection wrapped up into a neat little package. He wants to tell Diana to get all dolled up, thick black eyeliner and curled hair. He’ll take her to a real Hollywood party dressed like a modern day Fay Wray. He’ll show her the world like she’s never been able to see it. He can. He’s James fucking Diamond, a boy more famous than his dad ever has been.  
  
He tries not to be too vindictive about that victory.  
  
James regrets it when he has to gently extricate himself from Diana’s arms. Her pout is immediate. “Where are _you_ going?”  
  
“I’ve got a date, remember? Kendall’s waiting.”  
  
 _Kendall_. James can’t shake the memory of the plane, now, about to take off for his dreams. That day, Kendall was his hero. James would have given him anything in thanks, because a spoiled brat he may be, but he knows all about repaying debts. His mom, his real mom, raised him right.  
  
Or did she? James never did figure out how to return the favor, but heartbreak probably isn’t an even trade. He cringes. Negativity never got anyone laid.  
  
James straightens his clothes, sniffing the crook of his elbow. He smells like his dad. He’ll have to change before him and Kendall leave. Diana turns her face into the pillow. Her carefully straightened hair is getting mussed, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Have fun.”  
  
“Always do.”  
  
On his way out the door, James glances in the mirror. There is a smear of mandarin lipstick against his neck.  
  
Guiltily, he rubs at it with his sleeve.  
  
The canopy of jacaranda blossoms leading away from the hotel droops beneath the heavy sun. Interwoven between them are these pretty trees laden with huge white blossoms, imitating fresh snow. It makes James think of home, of building snowmen and igloos with Kendall, Carlos, and Logan. Sometimes they’d bury themselves in caves of ice for hours, hiding away from the world. He can’t take this heat anymore. James wishes he could wrap winter around his shoulders and fade into Christmas lights, sparkling in the snow. He wishes everything was always crisp and shiny and clear. But Diana muddles everything, because that is what she does best.  
  
Diana and Kendall. They’re weirdly alike in that way.  
  
He walks home convinced that he is rotting, turning black and ugly from the inside out. Every time he considers feeling bad about it, he thinks of Diana; the softness of her body pressed up against his, curves beneath his fingers and the cherry taste of her lips. He was so damn close.  
  
Soon.

\---

  
In 2J, Kendall is walking around in a pair of jeans and nothing else. James only allows himself a few seconds to stare at his sweat shiny skin before he walks right on past, into the bathroom. He grabs a bottle of hair gel and gets to work on styling.  
  
This heat just makes everything _wilt_.  
  
Kendall skulks in the doorframe. “Way to say hi, dude.”  
  
James spares him a glance. A bead of wet is tracking its way down Kendall’s navel. James decides it’s safer to look at his reflection. “I’ve got to get ready for a hot date.”  
  
He can actually hear Kendall smile. He comes up behind James, leaning his chin on his shoulder. “Getting yourself all pretty for me?”  
  
“I’m always pretty,” James retorts.  
  
“Don’t forget the part where you’re overwhelmingly modest. What’s that?” Kendall tugs at the collar of James’s shirt.  
  
In the mirror, James can see the smear of orange on the fabric is still there. He flushes. “Nothing.”  
  
“Alright.” Kendall hops up onto the counter, blocking very important styling space. James was planning on resting his hair gel there, damnit. “Where exactly are you taking me on this fancy date thing?”  
  
“Fancy…date…thing?” James snorts. “You really have a way with words.”  
  
Kendall punches him in the arm. “Jerk.”  
  
“ _Ow_. Be nice. I’m taking you to the greatest place on Earth.”  
  
“The hockey rink?” Kendall perks up.  
  
“The second greatest place on Earth,” James corrects with a fond eye-roll. “Are you excited?”  
  
“Me? Excited? To go out with you?” Kendall’s voice gets exaggeratedly loud. “I go out with you all the time. That would be stupid.”  
  
“You didn’t say no.” James beams. He’s feeling pretty great about his prospects, here. “Go put a shirt on. We’re leaving in ten.”  
  
“So, half an hour? Okay, then.”  
  
Kendall hops back off the counter, ruffling James’s hair in the process. Indignant, James yelps, “Dude!”  
  
“Make that forty minutes.” Kendall smirks. His nipples are pink-brown, standing at attention. Distracting James from how irritable he’s trying to be. “Oh and, James?”  
  
James gives Kendall his best deep snarl. “ _What_?”  
  
Kendall hooks a finger in the belt loop of James’s jeans, tugging him close and brushing his mouth against James’s ear. “I’m pretty excited.”  
  
He backs out of the bathroom with a smile that touches James all the way down to his toes. It takes root inside his bones and blossoms, grows big and strong and bright, branching out like a jacaranda tree.  
  
James is pretty excited too.

\---

  
The ride to James’s Super Top Secret Special Date Secret Locale takes half an hour on the highway. There were closer places he could have picked, but he likes to drive. The speed. The wind dancing through his hair. The tires shaking, rattling, jumping over ruts in the road while the wheel stays steady in his hands. He likes all of it.  
  
Kendall spends the whole ride fiddling with the stereo, switching from KROQ to the local indie station. He sings along to every song he knows; his voice and the music flooding through James like adrenaline. Is there anything better? He laces his fingers with Kendall’s on the gear stick. Kendall squeezes.  
  
He does not let go.  
  
They pull into the parking lot trailing bass drums and tread marks, car crunching concrete. Kendall’s gaze falls on the bright neon sign in front of them. He cocks an eyebrow, “This is your idea of a special date?”  
  
James shrugs, hands gripping the steering wheel. His palms are wet. They only get clammy like this when he’s nervous. Which must mean he is nervous. Around Kendall. Weird. “I’ve never taken anyone here before. Besides, you like the arcade.”  
  
Kendall considers. “Bet I can kick your ass in skee-ball,”  
  
“You’re so on, dude.” They tumble out of the car, trying to beat each other to the shiny glass façade of the arcade. By the time James’s hand is on the door handle, his nervousness has evaporated in the arid California heat.  
  
Kendall does kick his ass at skee-ball. Eight times. And then he pounds James at Zombie Slayers 5.0 and Point And Shoot and Whack-a-mole. James does manage to regain some of his dignity at Alien Space Invaders Twenty Nine and he rocks hard at Salsa Revolution, although the latter is a close call. Kendall’s hip shake continues to put James’s to shame.  
  
Kendall’s wins himself a cheap, plastic kazoo and James gets a yo-yo that takes him five seconds to break, showing off tricks he hasn’t tried since he was ten. He wishes Kendall would break the damned kazoo; he treats James to obnoxious symphonies all the way to the beach, butchering Smoky Robinson and Johnny Cash and the Foo Fighters all in the short space of ten minutes.  
  
They eat burgers on the boardwalk and James licks special sauce off his fingers.  
  
Kendall snorts into his bun, “You are one classy dude. Do you do this for all the girls?”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
The laughter dies from Kendall’s eyes. Blue sky reflects off his pupils, surrounded by the greengreengreen of his iris. “Stop what?”  
  
“Stop acting like I’d rather be out with a chick. I’m with you right now, dude. This is the only place I want to be.” James holds his gaze. “It’s the only place I’ve wanted to be for a while now.”  
  
Kendall doesn’t have a reply to that, and James wonders if maybe he’s done something wrong. They listen to the crash of the waves on the beach and chew, trading small talk that means less than it did a few minutes before. It’s not until they’re back in the safety of the car that Kendall says, “I thought I told you not to do that.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Don’t pretend you always wanted me. It makes it worse,” Kendall says. The roof is down, but they’re back on the highway, driving so fast they might as well being going at light speed. No one but James can hear him now.  
  
“Makes _what_ worse?”  
  
Kendall stays quiet. The minutes on the digital clock tick by. The song on the radio changes from some top forty pop hit to an indie ballad.  
  
“Kendall?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“The other day, you said that you would have noticed if I liked you?” James is not the most observant guy in the world, but he knows how to read between the lines when push comes to shove. He knows there is more to this story. Just. He was mostly trying not to think about it.  
  
Their history makes this hard enough without Kendall going and rewriting it completely.  
  
Kendall shrugs. He fiddles with his seatbelt, clicks lockunlocklock on the car door. Anything to avoid looking at James. “You really need me to answer that question?”  
  
“It’s kind of important, yeah.” James takes an off ramp without thinking about why. He’s driving up into the hills with the vague idea that he’ll find a quiet spot. Nothing more.  
  
Kendall shifts in the passenger seat, rubbing his palms against his knees, resting his elbow against the door and then changing his mind; the windowsill must be comfier. He stretches his legs and glances around. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Don’t change the subject.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Kendall demands, frustration creeping into his tone. “I like you. You know I like you, I agreed to come on this dumb date with you-“  
  
“It was not _dumb_.”  
  
“-and I kissed you and I’ll probably kiss you again because you’re gorgeous and excruciatingly aggravating, but mostly gorgeous, and you have been since as long as I can remember, so. I’ve liked you forever, _duh_. How could I not have?”  
  
James sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down. It’s nearly nightfall, but not quite there yet. The sky is a watercolor painting of blue, blush pink, and dusky indigo. He pulls over onto the darkest, most secluded street he can find and hopes that night will come sooner rather than later.  
  
“How long is forever?” He cannot keep the fascination out of his voice.  
  
Kendall crosses his arms and frowns at the perfectly manicured lawns outside of the car, some bordered by wrought iron fences, some blocked away by avocado trees, lupins, daisies, and asphodel. Wherever they are, it is lush. It is an oasis. “A long time.”  
  
“How long a time?” James emphasizes, because no matter how much the knowledge is going to work against him, he still has to hear it out loud. The lid on this Pandora’s Box is already cracked. What he knows, or thinks he knows, is already out there, in the world. It is a question waiting for an answer.  
  
The street lamps click on, turning the dusky shadows that play over Kendall’s face to gold. The sun surrenders the sky completely, disappearing behind the horizon that James cannot see and does not care about. There is nothing but him, Kendall, the car, and the buzz of cicadas singing sweetly through twilight.  
  
“It’s not a big deal.” Kendall says, the wrecked edge of his voice betraying how big a deal confessing this actually is, to his pride or his sense of self or whatever. “Sixth grade. Maybe fifth. Maybe third. I don’t know. A long time. No big.”  
  
James’s initial reaction makes shame burn deep in the pit of his stomach, because it’s _victory_. Diana was so damn sure that Kendall wasn’t interested in James, not even a little bit. That’s why she chose him.  
  
Her ability to read people _sucks_.  
  
James whistles. “That is a long time.”  
  
His second, equally ignoble instinct is to mock Kendall into the next century, but from the way Kendall folds in on himself, he can tell that would absolutely be the wrong move. But really, third grade? James is totally irresistible.  
  
“Yeah.” Kendall bunches his fingers into his jeans, too serious. James’s shame burns brighter. Kendall’s not supposed to be this serious. Not around him. “It doesn’t matter. Or it wasn’t supposed to. You’ve never been interested in guys.”  
  
“Neither have you.”  
  
Kendall doesn’t answer, doesn’t tell James he’s _different_ or say anything verging on romantic. He is wholly uncomfortable, solemn, and cagey. He looks like he is about to throw up his walls, and James doesn’t like the idea of being the one standing on the other side. He’s been a part of Kendall’s inner circle for as long as he can remember. Kendall’s never had a secret James hasn’t been privy too.  
  
At least, he’s always thought so.  
  
This isn’t how James wanted their date to end. He says, “So. You’re planning on kissing me again?”  
  
James tries not to be offended by the relieved slump of Kendall’s shoulders. Sure, James is the one who changed the subject, but it’s only because they’re dudes. Dudes don’t talk about their feelings. They’re supposed to be boorish and lewd. Yeah, maybe he would have liked Kendall to elaborate on this whole _third grade_ thing, the _why_ or the _how_ of it. Was it instantaneous or a slow realization? What prompted it? And why James? James who is shallow and self-absorbed and the complete polar opposite of all the grounded girls Kendall dates? He’d really like to know the reasoning behind that one, but there’s potential hooking up to be had here. He’ll settle for that.  
  
Besides, getting in too deep is the last thing he wants. Diana is the goal.  
  
“It’s not a plan,” Kendall objects. “Plans involve sheep. Or other livestock.”  
  
James cups his cheek, stroking his thumb along Kendall’s skin. “Sure they do.”  
  
“Sometimes plans have sheiks, too.”  
  
“Right.” He leans across the gear shift, making his intentions perfectly clear.  
  
Kendall catches the collar of James’s shirt in his hands and says, “It wasn’t a plan.”  
  
James presses their lips together, lets their skin stick so that Kendall can feel it before moving his mouth, gentle. They both taste like burgers, like In-N-Out animal sauce and sea salt and home. James curls his fingertips behind Kendall’s ears, tilting his face so that he has better access. Kendall’s tongue caresses slick and filthy against James’s, coaxing him closer, deeper. James keens for him, tries to pull Kendall up into his lap, but he can’t. The gear shift stands between them, a phallic shaped cockblock, and no matter how James pulls at Kendall’s sides, he can’t get past it. He does, however, manage to pull Kendall’s shirt up to his arm pits, the pale jut of his rib bones a stark contrast to the blackening sky. He tries to get the tee past Kendall’s shoulders, but Kendall is touching him, touching him, won’t stop touching James. He tugs and he tugs, insistent, until Kendall holds his arms up over his head and James can wrench the shirt free.  
  
“God, you’re fucking aggro,” Kendall mutters, chuckling into the hollow of James’s mouth.  
  
“You haven’t seen anything,” James bites back. He runs his hands across the planes of Kendall’s bare spine. “Want you.”  
  
“Need more room,” Kendall pants, eyeing the back of the BTR Mobile. He’s got this cocky shit smirk on, like he knows exactly where he wants this night to go. James is completely down with the idea. He scoots his butt over the center console and into the backseat.  
  
Kendall crawls after him, laying himself long and lean against James’s body. He hovers over James’s mouth for seconds on end before thumbing the line of his jaw and kissing him again, decisive. James can feel Kendall’s heartbeat, a steady pulse under his fingers, and he can taste him; lightning in the back of his throat. His breathing has shallowed out, and James is way more into this than he should be. Kendall’s body is hard and hot beneath his hands, and he’s pretty enthusiastic about kissing as a whole, enthusiastic and good. Which isn’t really fair; James is the one with all the experience. James is the one who’s supposed to be wowing Kendall with his tongue. But Kendall’s doing a pretty good job of reducing James to a puddle of mush.  
  
Too good a job. James pulls back, gasps, “Have you done this before? With a guy?”  
  
Immediately, Kendall looks away, bites his lip, and James is about to tell him that it’s _okay_ , that _we’ll take it slow_ , but to his complete and utter shock, Kendall says, “Yeah.”  
  
All of James’s reassurances die on his lips and he’s a little unnerved by the image that flits through his head, and by the dark, angry thing that accompanies it. He thinks of Kendall on all fours, giving it up to some faceless dude, and it’s too hot to handle, but it is also smoldering envy in his marrow, a thing that makes him ache.  
  
“Who was it?” James asks, before he can stop himself. He’s never been the greatest with the whole brain to mouth censor thing.  
  
“Does that really matter?” Kendall asks, his voice low and broken from how much he wants James. And it shouldn’t, but it does. It matters.  
  
“Tell me,” James urges, pulling back. He has no idea what he’s doing, why he’s waiting when he’s already got Kendall half-naked and willing, and more so why he’s pissed off. He feels like he’s wearing slimy, wet clothes, like he’s got this thing sticking to his skin, all uncomfortable and unfamiliar.  
  
“James.”  
  
“No, I-“ James starts, voice way louder than he intended for, echoing sharp and harsh. He stops, tries again, says in a hush, “You told me about everyone, about Jo and- _everyone_. Why wouldn’t you tell me this?”  
  
Kendall shifts, and James can see his cock softening, can see his arousal waning beneath the denim of his jeans. James is totally killing the mood, but he can’t shake how mad he is, this unreasonable, insane jealousy that he feels in the pit of his stomach. “Because I’m not proud of it, okay?”  
  
“What do you mean you’re not proud of it? No one forced you. Wait.” He tastes sour in his mouth. “No one forced you, right?”  
  
“Of course not. Just, I was drunk and stupid and-“ Kendall’s shoulders slump. “It was Jett, alright?”  
  
James’s first reaction to that, before the snakebite venom of jealousy, is inexplicably, “Wait, you let Jett fuck _you_?”  
  
“Once. Or twice. I don’t want to talk about it,” Kendall says, his cheeks turning a brilliant red color that is equal parts rage and humiliation. James can feel his words sinking in, can feel how much he wants to punch Jett Stetson in his smug fucking face, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself. Jealousy isn’t a thing he experiences often, but when he does, it always involves Kendall.  
  
Kendall who got the singing gig that James always wanted.  
  
Kendall, who got the girl that James was after.  
  
Kendall, stupidly gorgeous, stupidly wanting, stupidly _stupid_.  
  
“Did you fuck Jett too? Was this, like, a thing?” James asks in a rush, and he’s not looking at Kendall and his stupid face; he’s watching the sky. Just to make sure the clouds are sufficiently fluffy and everything.  
  
“James…”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
Kendall shrugs. “We were in DC for a week. We did a lot of things.”  
  
“But why him?”  
  
Kendall’s annoyed now, and even from the corner of his eye James can tell that Kendall’s significantly more interested in watching the progress of the moon in the sky than in looking anywhere near James’s direction.  
  
“Why not him? Geez, you’re overreacting. It’s not like you’ve never-“ Kendall cuts himself off, tact making a pest of itself. “Let’s just drop it.”  
  
“I don’t want to drop it,” James says, grabbing for Kendall’s hand when he reaches for his t-shirt. “Why him?”  
  
Kendall stares at James’s hand on his wrist like he’s considering all the different ways he can break it, and then, slowly he says, “Let me go. Now.”  
  
James tightens his grip. Kendall looks like he’s about to count to three before James finds himself with a bloody nose and a bruised eye socket, but James rushes to say, “You’re dumb,” which probably doesn’t help anything at all. Now Kendall just looks livid and insulted, which is probably worse.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
James yanks Kendall into him, letting go of his wrist to wrap his arms around Kendall’s shoulders, burrowing his head into the space between his neck and shoulder.  
  
“Dumb,” he mumbles again. Kendall is completely rigid, not shoving James away, but not doing much more than breathing shallowly either. James says, “I wish it had been me.”  
  
He knows the words are true the second they leave his mouth, and it scares him more than anything. But Jett does not deserve Kendall.  
  
James would have made it better for him.  
  
James would have made sure that Kendall had no regrets.  
  
He can actually feel Kendall sigh. “Why would you want that, dude?”  
  
“Because I thought…I’ve never done this before. I thought it was going to be something we were doing together.”  
  
“Hey, hey,” Kendall grabs at his chin, tilting James’s face up so that he can see. He’s searching, looking for something in James’s expression that James doesn’t know how to fake, but it must be there anyway, because Kendall actually smiles. “We are doing it together. Do you see anyone else here?”  
  
James shakes his head, still sulking.  
  
“Just because it’s not the first time I’ve done it doesn’t mean it’s not the most important, okay? I want you. It…” Kendall squeezes his eyes shut and admits, “It was always supposed to be you anyway.”  
  
 _Third grade_ , James thinks. He feels this inexplicable fondness unfold in his chest, affection that he can feel like golden light all over.  
  
“You’re so dumb. Why are you so dumb?” James asks, pulling Kendall’s lower lip between his teeth, kissing and licking and fitting their mouths together until Kendall is kissing him back, needy.  
  
James can take him right now. He wouldn’t even have to worry about hurting him, because Kendall’s gone and gotten all the truly messy parts over with. He’s ready, hard, eager. There is nothing stopping either of them from getting it on right there in suburbia.  
  
Nothing except James.  
  
The last thing he wants right then is to grapple with feelings, but all he can do is feel. How did he ever think seducing Kendall would be the same as it is with all of his other conquests? He’s having a lot of trouble sorting through his thoughts, but there is _third grade_ and how Kendall wanted _James_ to be his _first_ and the constant mantra of _Diana_ , fighting for attention. James is actually grateful when Kendall’s phone goes off, the jaunty ringtone that belongs to Katie filling the car.  
  
“Not answering it,” Kendall mumbles, “Not. Answering.”  
  
James kisses the corner of his mouth. “It’s Katie. She wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important. Get it.”  
  
Kendall groans long and loud, but he obediently digs his cell out of his jeans, expression mutinous. It takes all of a minute to assess that they’re needed back at the Palmwoods, immediately.  
  
“Gustavo won’t actually kill Carlos, will he?” James worries, shifting the car into gear.  
  
“He might. Katie said Carlos nearly blew up the studio.” Kendall’s laugh is smothered beneath his t-shirt. Kendall is pulling the thing back on, his wiry frame disappearing from view. Unfulfilled desire pools in James’s stomach. He could have had Kendall arching over him, riding his dick under the glow of the moonlight. The kid’s apparently had a huge crush on James forever. Knowing Kendall, it wouldn’t take much more than a few quick fucks to turn that crush into full on _love_. James could be in Diana’s pants before next week is out, if he really plays his cards right. So why didn’t he tell Kendall to ignore the phone and just have his wicked way with him?  
  
James doesn’t know. He sulks the entire way back home, pissed off at himself and his idiotic sense of loyalty and the jealousy of Jett Stetson that still festers in his stomach.  
  
Maybe that’s it, he thinks. He’s not used to _performance anxiety_ , but maybe he wants to ensure that his first time with Kendall is infinitely better than Kendall’s first time with Jett.  
  
The problem there is that Kendall’s probably not going to come forward with any intimate details. Which means that James will have to ask…Jett. Ugh. He didn’t like that douchebag on principal before; no one gets to call Kendall strange looking except for James. Now he hates him with the kind of vitriolic fervor he usually reserves for opposing hockey teams and the dudes who beat James out on auditions. Striking up a conversation about his sex life will probably be _unpleasant_.  
  
It has to be done. If James is going to go through with the whole hideous process of breaking Kendall’s heart, he might as well make sure the sex is nothing short of spectacular.  
  
He doesn’t let himself dwell on how the idea of breaking Kendall’s heart grows more repulsive by the second. If Kendall’s liked James since third grade, it’s his own moronic fault. Of all people, Kendall should know that James comes with a warning label that reads _danger_. He’s never once tried to hide how much of a player he is, not to his friends.  
  
Fuck. Thinking _hurts_.  
  
James gives Kendall a quick peck on the lips before they make their way into 2J, which is basically a disaster scene. Gustavo is yelling at the top of his lungs, Carlos is cowering behind Logan, and Katie is standing her ground between the two groups with the iron will of a four star admiral. When she sees Kendall, she says, “Great, you’re here. I’m sick of dealing with this. Real Blood is on HBO.”  
  
Kendall does what he does best, mitigating for Carlos and negotiating with Gustavo. James doesn’t bother watching. He hides out in the safe haven of his room, waiting for the phone call that he knows is coming.  
  
It takes half an hour. “How’d your date go?”  
  
“Fine,” James snaps, “How was Hollywood?”  
  
“Shallow and vapid, just like you.” Diana replies easily. “Sounds like someone didn’t get laid tonight.”  
  
“Yeah, well. I’ve got time.”  
  
“Not much. I’m headed back to Minnesota with your father at the end of the month.”  
  
“I’ll get it done, Di.”  
  
“I’ve got complete faith in you, Jamie. Oh, and you’re coming to dinner tomorrow night.”  
  
“With you?” James brightens.  
  
“And your dad.”  
  
“No. Absolutely not.”  
  
There is a pause, and then, “You’re coming, James.”  
  
The voice that replies is not Diana’s. James swallows, thickly, insides tinged with equal parts anger and anxiety.  
  
“Uh. Hi…dad.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Know what?” Carlos asks, still trying to pinch James’s leg hairs, which tickles less. Then, “I want free dinner.”
> 
> “You’re not invited.”
> 
> “Why does Kendall get to go and I don’t?” He whines.
> 
> “Probably because Kendall’s had his tongue in James’s mouth,” Logan announces, trotting into the room with a book and a smirk.
> 
> Carlos says, “I could do that, I could totally put my tongue in your- wait, what?”

With the blinds pulled, James’s room is shaded in Etruscan colors, cracked clay and dark, rich earth. The shadows all have brown-gold edges, shot through with light, more friendly than sinister. In the midst of it all, James lies as still as a Greco-Roman statue and tries to formulate a plan of attack.  
  
Dinner. With his dad. And Diana. It’s a recipe for disaster if he’s ever heard one. The last time his family tried eating out, together, in public, knives were thrown.  
  
Alright, maybe they were only thrown within the confines of James’s mind, but Diana was eyeing her steak cleaver pretty covetously. He absolutely, one hundred percent _does not_ want a repeat of that.  
  
Part of the problem, of course, is that James’s dad knows that James and Diana were involved, once upon a time. He’s too mature and dignified to be jealous – his words – but sometimes the glares he cuts towards James bear a striking resemblance to an emotion that is startlingly close to it. James has trouble figuring out if his dad’s envy makes him a smart man, for sensing something’s wrong, or a stupid one, for thinking the past stays past. Diana does nothing to discourage it. Around James, she becomes more, somehow. More vibrant, full of laughter, smile wider, prettier than every other girl in the room. She’s not like that, with his dad alone. He makes her fade into the background.  
He wears her like an accessory, with no idea how to make her shine.  
  
James bites down on his lip, fingers bunched into his comforter. Thinking about his dad and Diana has never done anything but piss him off. He can’t afford that right now. Anger clouds his judgment, and James is mid-game. He can’t let anything set him off-balance, or Kendall will  
notice, and after that, it will only be a matter of time before Kendall knows.  
  
Wait.  
  
 _Kendall_.  
  
James doesn’t quite cry _Eureka_ , but the triumphant noise he makes sounds a lot like it. He hunts down Kendall, fully intending to rope him into a tux, but he runs into an unexpected obstacle.  
  
Specifically, Kendall is all dripping wet and mostly naked, having just stepped out of the shower.  
  
“This is the bathroom,” Kendall says dumbly. “I locked the door.”  
  
“I’m aware,” James replies, dry mouthed and hypnotized by the bead of water beneath Kendall’s right nipple. He’s only human, here.  
  
“No, but. This is the bathroom. And _I locked the door_ ,” Kendall says, outraged. James tries to not to feel too victorious about it, but aggravating his best friend has always been one of his favorite hobbies.  
  
“You didn’t lock it very well,” James tells him, even though it took him a whole five minutes to jimmy the thing open.  
  
“James, get _out_ ,” Kendall screeches, clutching his towel tight as steam billows behind him.  
  
James does not get out, his bare feet sticking to the bathroom tile. He feels sort of stupid, standing there in his race car pajamas when Kendall is made of gold, peach, and rose, a living, breathing sculpture of a boy. He longs to reach out and touch, cannot help it when he does so. Kendall inhales sharp, through his nose. James doesn’t really remember what it’s like to breathe. His best friend’s skin is damp and spongy beneath his fingertips, but soft and scented like a tropical forest.  
  
He could bend down on his knees, tear that towel away, and lick the summer heat off Kendall’s flesh.  
  
He could, but he promised himself that he would not. Sex right now would be speedy and satisfying and over too quick, and it probably wouldn’t be better than anything Jett Stetson has to offer. James needs to be mind-blowing, not desperate and needy. Right.  
  
If only his mouth weren’t so dry. He needs a drink, he thinks. Hot cocoa. Or vodka. Or maybe hot cocoa spiked with vodka.  
  
James stands there, a little stunned, and finally Kendall takes charge of the situation. Kendall is very, very good at that. He cups James’s cheek and smiles, splintered and uncertain but still mostly Kendall, brave and true.  
  
“If you’re not going to leave, you might as well do something,” Kendall murmurs, coyer than James thought he knew how to be. He touches his lips to James’s, soft _wet_ and oh-so-sweet. James’s brain totally blanks out, short-circuited by the way Kendall presses their bodies together, leaving a long, soggy mark up James’s pajamas. He clutches at Kendall’s sides, trying to force him closer, trying to deepen the kiss, and he doesn’t like it at all when Kendall pulls away laughing.  
  
Why is there laughing? Laughing is not the usual response to James-kisses. James knows; he is usually an active participant in them, and he can’t remember anyone ever laughing so blatantly in his face. Kendall shoves him back a few steps, still laughing hard. He says, “Get out,” and then slams the door in James’s face.  
  
James looms right outside the bathroom, trying to fight off the inexplicable feeling that he’s been _had_.  
  
He would stay there all day, probably, if not for the throat that gets cleared somewhere in the vicinity of his right shoulder. Logan is standing behind him, clad in a pair of board shorts and about eighteen layers of sunscreen that are melting off him in tiny white beads. Someone spent the morning at the pool.  
  
Logan blinks. And then he blinks again. “Were you just, uh. Making out with Kendall?”  
  
“Yeah,” James sighs, because convincing Logan that he’s suffering from heat stroke is a lot more work than he’s willing to put in right now. He totally forgot to ask Kendall to dinner. Being thwarted sucks.   
  
Logan makes a ragged noise. Then another. He sounds out, “I’m not going to lie. I’m a little freaked out right now.”  
  
“Breathe,” James recommends, not all that interested in Logan’s freak-out. But, because he’s a good friend, he asks, “Do you want me to get you a paper bag?”  
  
“That would probably help,” Logan agrees, hands turned to claws by his sides.  
  
And for the next ten minutes, James rubs soothing circles into Logan’s back while he hyperventilates about his world tilting on its axis.  
  
“Are you guys gay now?” Logan finally asks bluntly, his voice too steady for someone who just had a virtual panic attack.  
  
“No idea,” James crosses his arms over his knees. “Kendall’s giving me a lot of mixed signals. Don’t you think he’s been acting weird lately?”  
  
Mostly those mixed signals are _third grade_ and Jett Stetson, but Logan doesn’t need to know that.  
  
…No, but, really. James doesn’t understand why Kendall would go gay for Jett. He’s not even close to as pretty as James.  
  
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Logan retorts. “Although I guess it makes sense now.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“That smug smile, for one. I thought you landed a modeling job, or Gustavo was giving you a solo, or you banged Diana, which, by the way, would have been wrong on so many levels and-“  
  
“Why would you think that last one?” James demands, sharper than he intends. Logan’s too smart for his own good, always able to see right to the heart of every problem.  
  
“Because you’re hot for her. You have been for like, ever.”  
  
“I haven’t.”  
  
“James, please. Every time your stepmom’s in the room, you drool all over her. I’m glad that’s not it. Kendall’s a superior choice. Are you, uh, dating?” Logan runs a hand over his hair, making it stand on end in little spikes. “This conversation is surreal.”  
  
“Would it be awful if we were?” James asks, abruptly beleaguered by a knot of guilt in his stomach. Lying to Kendall is hard enough. He didn’t even think about how he’d have to lie to Logan and Carlos too.  
  
Logan stares at the carpet, his shoulders trembling. “I guess not. I can’t say I didn’t know this was coming.”  
  
“Me and Kendall?” James asks, more surprised than he wants to let on. Did everyone know about Kendall’s crush but him? Is James really that oblivious?  
  
“Not Kendall. That’s unexpected.” Logan bites his lip. “But you and guys…I knew it would happen eventually.”  
  
James objects, “I’m not that predictable.”  
  
Ruefully, Logan replies, “You are when it comes to sex. You’ve always liked pretty things, James. It never mattered what they were made up of.  
Glass. Diamond. Estrogen. Testosterone…I guess Kendall is a pretty thing too.”  
  
James nods his agreement, losing himself to the frozen image in his head of Kendall stepping out of a cloud of steam. Kendall is a very pretty thing.  
  
Logan asks, “James?”  
  
“Yeah?” James checks the corner of his mouth, just to make sure he’s not salivating.  
  
“Don’t hurt him. He’s still all messed up over Jo.” Logan levels James with a gaze concocted of cinnamon and hazelnut and something stronger, more severe. “You know how he falls in love; fast, hard, and forever.”  
  
James shifts uncomfortably, the dim light of the hall darkening everything to dusky blue and purple and brown. Night colors, oil painting colors, and nothing at all like the brightness James prefers.  
  
“Come on, man. It’s Kendall. He’s resilient.”  
  
“No. He’s not.” Logan meets James’s gaze, his pupils huge, his irises coffee-comfort, Minnesota-earth, but also hard in a way that James rarely sees. “He tries so hard to be invincible. You should know better than anybody that he’s not. Don’t hurt him. Please.”  
  
“Okay.” James swallows. “Alright.”  
  
He doesn’t promise, because he can’t. Diana’s name is a mantra in his head, her smile, her dancing eyes, the curve of her breasts and the delicate arch of her ankles. Kendall is hot and real and his best friend in the whole world, but she is his fantasy, his make-believe, his dream girl. In the end, he knows who he will choose.

\---

  
He stumbles upon Kendall and Carlos in the living room in the middle of the afternoon, shooting zombies in the head and crowing loud after each shot lands. The sun streaming through the window is merciless. James is baking, even with the air conditioning. He steps in close to the couch and smacks them both across the back of the head.  
  
“Ow,” Kendall says, shooting James an annoyed look before turning back to zombies. Carlos has less self-control, and leaps off the couch with his video game controller held high, an instrument of impending blunt force trauma.  
  
He shouts, “What was that for?” and swings towards James.  
  
“Not the face,” Kendall instructs, fingers jabbing buttons, not moving to help.  
  
James dodges to the left, and Carlos announces, “His face deserves it.”  
  
Another wild swing nearly gives James a wicked shiner, but he wasn’t one of the best players on their hockey team for nothing. He’s got reflexes like a panther, _rawr_.  
  
“I like his face,” Kendall says, but he still isn’t offering an assist.  
  
James finds that he’s not nearly as enticing with clothes on. In fact, he’s being kind of annoying. Why does James want to take him somewhere nice again?  
  
Oh yeah. Dinner. Diana. Dad. James kicks out at Carlos’s shins, knocking his legs from beneath him. In the interim, while Carlos catches his breath, James talks like a trainwreck, fast and messy. “Come out to dinner with me tonight, right, okay, please, I really want you to.”  
  
Kendall frowns, his thumbs finally paused. “Is that a good idea?” His avatar shrieks as a zombie sinks its teeth into his flesh, but Kendall still doesn’t move.  
  
“Why wouldn’t it be?”  
  
Carlos groans. James plants his boot firmly on Carlos’s abdomen and gives him a look that clearly means _stay down_.  
  
“It’s just. Your dad.” Kendall is a perfect echo of James’s earlier thoughts.  
  
“Exactly. I don’t know why you’re so nervous about this. It’s just my dad.”  
  
“Sure, yeah, fine.” Kendall’s cheeks redden, and he gestures for James to lean in close. When James does, he hisses, low enough that  
Carlos can’t hear, “Last time I saw your dad you hadn’t tried to stick your hand down my pants.”  
  
“He won’t know.” Carlos begins clawing at James’s calf. It tickles.  
  
“He might know,” Kendall argues.  
  
“Know what?” Carlos asks, still trying to pinch James’s leg hairs, which tickles less. Then, “I want free dinner.”  
  
“You’re not invited.”  
  
“Why does Kendall get to go and I don’t?” He whines.  
  
“Probably because Kendall’s had his tongue in James’s mouth,” Logan announces, trotting into the room with a book and a smirk.  
  
Carlos says, “I could do that, I could totally put my tongue in your- wait, what?”  
  
“Wait, _what_?” Kendall echoes, his voice pitching higher than it’s gone since they were thirteen. He throws a scandalized, gaping expression of horror James’s way, and it takes on a desperate edge when he turns it towards Logan.  
  
“Don’t even try to hide it. I saw you two this morning. All steamy and naked.” Logan’s got a bit of a sadistic streak. James is really enjoying this aspect of him.  
  
He watches Kendall’s eyes get wider and wider, frantic, even. “That was- I mean- uh. It. You know.”  
  
“I know you and James are getting it on or going steady or whatever it is you young kids do these days,” Logan agrees.  
  
“Going steady?” Kendall mouths weakly. He gives James a despairing glower, which James answers with a Cheshire smile and a shrug. “You knew he knew? Thanks for the heads up, jerk.”  
  
“How long has there been anything to know?” Carlos asks, injured. He gives Logan big brown cow eyes. “And why am I always the last to know?”  
  
Logan helps Carlos out from under James’s boot and off the floor. “The important thing is they’re happy. Right?”  
  
Grudgingly, Carlos agrees, “Right. You guys aren’t going to like, suck face in front of me, right?”  
  
Kendall tells James, “You can punch him.”  
  
James tells Kendall, “Already on it,” and cracks his knuckles. Carlos bolts from the room.

\---

  
James taps his fingers against his dresser, bored with this game. He looks good. Duh. He’s James Diamond. He always looks good.  
  
But somehow he knows it won’t be good enough for his dad. Some miniscule stain on his tie that most people would need a microscope to see, a hair out of place, a scuff on his shoes; all of it will be fodder for his dad’s disapproval.  
  
In his full-length mirror, James can see the reflection of the sun melting into the horizon, the cotton candy colors of California fading, drowned out by a glow so bright it’s visible from space. The foothills loom in the distance, cradling the urban sprawl of houses and hotels and lounges hopping with life. Hollywood is not a city, it’s a playground, it’s an extension of Disney; Hollywoodland, all lit up in lights. James thinks it will be easier to exist in the steady glow of city neon, all that electricity outshining even the stars, turning James electric too.  
  
Any other day, any other night, he would be out there with Kendall and Carlos and Logan, owning it, shiningshimmeringsplendid, dangling their feet off the rooftop of buildings and cat calling the whole wide underworld, trash filled alleys and traffic jammed streets, voices lost somewhere between the honk of cars and the howl of wind. Tonight, instead, he is dapper, dressed in a suit and ready to charm.  
  
Probably. His dad’s really hard to charm.  
  
It must show on his face, because Kendall is standing in the doorframe of his room, watching with a fond smirk while James fumbles with his tie.  
  
“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” he mimics softly, stepping inside, closer, to help. His fingers move deftly over the fabric, tying the knot his dad taught him, before he skipped town. James and Kendall have always had that on common, dads who prefer to be anywhere but here.  
“It’s just your dad.” He pauses, cupping James’s cheek. “It’ll be okay.”  
  
James says, “You don’t know that.”  
  
“Have I ever let you down?” Kendall asks, his eyes big and green and so familiar that it aches.  
  
“No,” James admits sullenly. Kendall doesn’t know how to be disappointing. He is the hero, the knight in shining armor, the prince charming that James has always wanted to be.  
  
And right now, he’s looking at James like he’s all of those things and more.  
  
James clears his throat, “Ugh, stop giving me feelings, alright?”  
  
“Feelings?” Kendall cocks an eyebrow.  
  
“The warm squishy kind,” James makes a face, with a hint of grin, just to show he’s joking. “I don’t appreciate it at all.”  
  
With a reckless grin, Kendall leans in close and inquires, “I make you feel squishy?”  
  
“I think this conversation has taken a wrong turn, somehow.” Kendall’s too close, and James is struck by how much he abruptly wants, more than anything, to back away. He can’t play with Kendall like this. He can’t flirt and kid around when Kendall won’t stop being so damn good.  
  
James doesn’t know how to cope with it, the fear that trickles icy cold down his limbs He pecks Kendall on the lips, because that is in the script, that’s what a real almost-boyfriend would do, but all the while he’s thinking that everything about this is _wrong_.  
  
On the walk to the hotel, James focuses on the dirt between the cracks on the unnaturally white sidewalk, sweat pooling in the palms of his hands. Kendall bumps their shoulders together, reminding him, “You can do this.”  
  
“I can do anything,” James says with barely a trace of his usual cockiness.  
  
Kendall stops, rubber soled _sneakers_ skidding on the concrete. He is not wearing a suit, or anything even close. James isn’t sure he owns anything other than skinny jeans.  
  
“Yeah. You can,” he agrees. He is utterly serious, utterly Kendall. James believes him, despite himself.  
  
His dad and Diana emerge from their hotel in a blast of cold air from the lobby. She’s pretty as a flower, fresh cut hydrangea, her pale indigo dress binding her breasts so tightly they spill over, golden tan. She’s wearing her dark hair down, exactly the way James likes it, shower-clean and scented so sweet. He buries his nose against her throat when she hugs him, tight, too tight, how does no one notice how they cling to each other?  
  
James’s dad doesn’t get a hug. A single nod of his head is good enough for that man, dressed in leather and denim and the dust of the road.  
He wants to be an urban cowboy, a renegade, anything but an old man.  
  
James says, “Dad,” voice ice-pick sharp.  
  
“How’s it hanging, kiddo? Good, I see,” he talks right over James. “And you brought- Kendall. Interesting choice. I thought that Garcia kid was your favorite playmate.”  
  
“Dad, I’m too old to have playmates,” James stresses at the same time as Kendall demands, “Carlos is your favorite?”  
  
James nudges him with his foot. “Shut up, Carlos is your favorite too.”  
  
“Nuh uh,” Kendall says emphatically. “You’re my favorite.”  
  
James blinks. Then he does not blush, because James Diamond and blushing aren’t things that happen in the same sentence, unless he’s making it happen to someone else, but the tips of his ears might burn, just a bit.  
  
Right up until Diana jams her stiletto right into his foot.  
  
Even through the thick leather of James’s boots, it hurts. He’s about to ask her what the actual fuck, but he’s distracted by his dad, telling Kendall, “That’s a bit queer, son.”  
  
Kendall darts a glance towards James, his toothy grin reminiscent of a million sunny days of water balloon fights and prank wars and street hockey games. He’s asking permission, James understands, and with the slightest of nods, James gives it to him. “Actually, uh, sir, I’m here as James’s date.”  
  
It is a bomb in the midst of their social niceties, but only the pulsing vein in the side of James’s dad’s neck gives that away. He smiles ever-so-charmingly and jokes, “Welcome to the family.”  
  
Diana does not bat an eye, but if her lack of surprise raises Kendall’s suspicions, he does not say so.   
  
“How long have you two been together?” Mr. Diamond asks, because he has always liked to pretend that he is too cool for school. His grace and poise is an obvious front, and just to see if he can crack it, James wraps his arm around Kendall’s shoulders.  
  
“Seems like forever, now.”  
  
Kendall blinks, but doesn’t give James away. He settles into his side and says, “It does, doesn’t it?”  
  
They make up a story, something boring and banal and completely untrue, falsifying their relationship into just that, a real relationship. Diana quirks her eyebrows, amused by the lies, gunmetal glitter twinkling over her lashes. Mr. Diamond buys into it all, hook, line, and sinker.  
  
He is agitated, James can tell, but he’s too polite to cause a scene in public. Not that Kendall or Diana represent the public; they’ve both had their fair share of watching James’s dad chastise and belittle James. It’s the busy street around the hotel that draws Mr. Diamond’s eye, and invites his silence.  
  
At least, for the moment.

\---

  
Inside the restaurant, the windows are stained glass, or maybe just made to look like it, but they shine primary colors down on diners in geometric shapes. A man’s silver hair is transformed into a deep, fiery red. A woman’s high cheekbones are shaded a bright cobalt blue. A little girl’s ruffled socks are seaweed green, and a waiter clothed all in black shines yellow as a daffodil.  
  
James, his dad, Diana, and Kendall get a table in the back, near the faux-stone walls and more importantly, away from the over-loud chatter of most of the other patrons of the restaurant. Mr. Diamond seems pleased enough by the selection, but James hates it. In the middle of all the ornamentation, Diana is pale and flimsy as a breeze. She looks like she might turn into a specter if James tears his eyes away.  
  
Besides, Kendall takes one look at the menu and hisses, “James, I don’t know what half of these things are.”  
  
“Fake it,” James mutters back, more than used to reading fancy restaurantese. His parents used to tote him around like a pet spaniel, guiding him from one fancy French brasserie to dimly lit bistro to fusion to whatever gastronomical delight took their fancy.  
  
“I don’t like to eat things I can’t pronounce,” Kendall objects, but he obediently buries his head in the menu and tries to work out what ceviche is.  
  
They order and then make small talk, albeit stressed. James’s dad talks about working with local clubs, while James and Kendall talk about working in stadiums. Mr. Diamond is proud, because he is not exactly the completely terrible father that James always likes to paint him as, but he is also keen to know all the details of popstardom. Especially the fiscal details, and particularly that James isn’t being an idiot with his cash.  
  
“Mom takes care of all of that.”  
  
“Your mother thinks that three thousand dollars is a reasonable price for shoes,” Mr. Diamond replies easily. “Are you saving for college?”  
  
James makes a dismissive noise. “I’m not going to college.”  
  
“You need to have a backup plan.” James is over this conversation already.  
  
He lets his father lecture him on the merits of education through the appetizers and well into the main course. Mr. Diamond is somewhere between _you never know what the future might hold_ and _you’re in a boy band, son, and not getting any younger_ – all of which is pretty rich coming from the original lost boy – when James decides it’s time for some fun. Surreptitiously, he kicks off one of his boots and nudges  
Kendall with his foot beneath the table.  
  
Kendall kicks him.  
  
Undeterred, James snakes the sole of his naked foot up Kendall’s ankle. This has the somewhat negative effect of Kendall’s eyes getting so big that James is scared his pupils are going to burst. He backs off hastily, scared that Kendall might choke on his steak. His knowledge of the Heimlich is rusty.  
  
He waits until Kendall’s done chewing for a second try, but he reaches the wrong feet, unless Kendall wore sky high stilettos to dinner and  
James just didn’t notice. Diana, however, is not at all averse to James’s advances, and slides her heel against the sensitive skin of James’s shin. She takes over the game, slipping out of her Jimmy Choos, making it a tease.  
  
Diana really knows how to _tease_. By the time she’s got her toes massaging the inside of James’s knee, his dick has taken a serious interest in the proceedings. He shudders, completely turned on, but no one else is any the wiser.  
  
James manages not to feel guilty about that until Kendall’s hand slides into his lap beneath the table, fingers lacing with James’s.  
  
Which _Diana_ notices. Suddenly, her side of the conversation is full of barbed wire; one wrong step and James is tangled and cut. Her foot hasn’t stopped its slow trek towards James’s junk, the curl of her toes brushing electric over the inseam of his jeans. Kendall squeezes his fingers and Diana’s foot inches higher still, fuck, fuck, James can’t actually be this turned on right now. He can’t, but he is, and he’s arching into the ball of Diana’s foot when it finally gets where he wants it, rutting up into bare skin he can’t even feel through his jeans.  
  
She smiles at him then, a sweet, bashful thing that is so shockingly reminiscent of the day he met her that James has trouble remembering why he ever let her go. Desperate love has him by the back of the neck, claws digging into his jugular, and by the time dessert comes around, he is staring at Diana so wanting and open that he’s sure Kendall must notice.  
  
But Kendall’s completely absorbed in conversation with James’s dad, only linked to James by his fingers, and James couldn’t look away from the charcoal color of Diana’s eyelashes even if he wanted to.  
  
He’s teetering on the edge of an orgasm when she pulls her foot away. She slides up out of her chair, begging pardon from Kendall and James’s dad before wandering off the bathroom. James is left, bereft, wondering if it’s poor form to palm his hand over his dick and send himself completely over the edge.  
  
Kendall’s fingers are still twined with his, sitting firmly on his thigh. If he edged them both a little to the right, it’d be exactly right. It’d also be entirely wrong, so James waits with gritted teeth for the tight grip of arousal on his balls and belly dies down. It sets him on edge, even his bones over-sensitized. The end of dinner can’t come too soon.  
  
Outside, the moonlight puddles on the concrete, yellow as corn, competing for space from the street lamps and headlights. When Diana hugs him goodbye, James leans in close and murmurs, “The hell was that? Are you jealous?”  
  
She laughs, throaty and loud.  
  
“Of some conquest? No.”  
  
James wants to tell her not to call Kendall a conquest, but he knows better. Diana needs the game to justify what she’s doing. What she’s feeling. It’s weights and measures; it’s a gamble. The anonymity and the idea that she’s always, always in control are what makes everything worth it. If James reminds her that Kendall’s a human being, a person with real worth, the chase is off.   
  
James isn’t ready to wave the white flag quite yet. He turns on his heel, waving an irreverent salute towards his dad, but that gets him about three steps away before Mr. Diamond’s collared him by the back of the neck.  
  
He murmurs, “Son, do you think this is wise?”  
  
James knows exactly what this is about, but plays dumb anyway. “What?”  
  
He waits to be told that a Diamond is not allowed to be gay _for keeps_ , sees the words waiting in the stony, pinched expression his father’s wearing. He’s gotten this lecture before, about girls and boys and what’s expected of him in the future.  
  
So he’s barely paying attention when his dad begins, “Well,” choosing his words carefully, punctuates them with a meaningful glance towards  
Kendall, who is wishing Diana his own less tactile farewell. “You always break your playthings.”  
  
It’s not what James is expecting to hear. He says, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“I know you. You’re my boy.” Mr. Diamond replies, his eyes dark and searching and exactly like James’s. Everyone says so. “You’re not careful.”  
  
Hypocrite.  
  
Low and rough, James tells him, “Spare me the lecture. If I hurt him, that’s my business.”  
  
His dad releases him, but James can still feel his fingertips against the back of his neck, stinging like a firebrand. “It’s not Kendall Knight I’m worried about, James.”  
  
It sounds so damn fatherly.  
  
He sounded the same the day he explained why Diana needed a _man_ and not a _boy_. James knows better now. “Fuck you, Dad. Let’s not do dinner again anytime soon.”  
  
If he had a door to slam, James would. In the absence of loud noises, James stomps towards Kendall, grabbing him by the elbow and forcibly dragging him away. He doesn’t slow down until his father and the woman they both love have been swallowed by Hollywood’s glowing embrace, faded to black in the distance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kendall fits his hands between them, grabbing James’s wrists. “What are you – no, I’m not letting half of Los Angeles County see my ass.”

“I see your dad’s making a real commitment to being a better person,” Kendall says conversationally as they make their way down the sidewalk.  
  
“Leave it alone, dude.” The air smells like black tar and palm fronds, oaky bark and sharp citrus. Cars whizz past with such speed that it hurts to watch, there and gone in a streak of red and white light. James breathes deep, shoves his hands into his pockets, and waits for the inevitable fight Kendall’s about to put up.  
  
“I can’t. I hate it when he talks to you like that.”  
  
He never knows when to leave well enough alone. Predictable.  
  
James asks, “Like what?” perfectly innocent, concentrating on his footsteps, counting them out.  
  
One.  
  
Two.  
  
Three.  
  
“Like you’re property.” Kendall’s face scrunches up rather unattractively, his distaste a physical reaction. “And not even property he likes very much.”  
  
“It’s cool.” James bumps their shoulders together affectionately. “I don’t like him very much either.”  
  
The summer sky is hazy black beneath the thick layer of smog that clings like a cobweb to the Los Angeles skyline. Intense heat beads sweat at the small of James’s back.  
  
It should be more bearable now, in the darkness, but Diana’s game beneath the table continues to prickle hot under his skin. He wants flesh beneath his palms. He wants to feel filthy noises reverberate in his throat. Kendall doesn’t look particularly receptive to being pushed up against a wall and ravished, but that doesn’t stop James from giving the idea some serious consideration.  
  
Between Diana’s visit and Kendall’s puritan values, it’s been nearly a month since he last got laid, and at this point he’s shamefully indiscriminate about whom he seals the deal with. Kendall, with his full, pink mouth and his wiry musculature and his open adoration, fits the bill just fine.  
  
“James. Hey, hi.” Kendall impatiently wiggles his fingers in front of James’s face. “You’re zoning.”  
  
“Can you blame me?” James steps in close to Kendall, running his fingers over the collar of his flannel. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck. “We’re all alone.”  
  
He mouths along the ridged line of Kendall’s jugular. A moan vibrates beneath his lips, so he sucks harder, tries to taste it. Kendall laughs harshly, ruffles his hands through James’s hair and tugs at his shirt. “We’re in the middle of the sidewalk. Idiot.”  
  
James doesn’t care. This moment, right now, it is asphalt, broken glass, crushed flowers, and the sharp, hot whimper tripping off Kendall’s lips.  
He marks Kendall because he can, coaxes red-black bruises beneath his tongue. The velvet black of night blurs the contours of Kendall’s face, creates a palette of pink-peach, red, and green, green, green. He mouths against James’s ear, wet and open, making this noise that’s half-grunt, half-whine whenever their hips rub the right way.  
  
This is perfect, this is it, this is exactly what James needs to forget the tease of Diana’s foot against his skin. He wants her, he wants her, he wants her, but he wants Kendall too, and for now, it’s enough. He begins fumbling open the front of Kendall’s jeans, denim scraping rough under his hands.  
  
Kendall fits his hands between them, grabbing James’s wrists. “What are you – no, I’m not letting half of Los Angeles County see my ass.”  
  
James shoves him against dark, knotted tree bark, rich brown against Kendall’s pale skin. Squeezing his fingertips into the stitching at the back of Kendall’s jeans, he murmurs, “Let them see mine instead.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Kendall snorts, cocking his head to the side. His bangs lay golden across the pale skin of his forehead, illuminated by lamplight and the toxic glow of electric light reflected down at them from smog-tinged clouds. He’s really absurdly beautiful, James thinks, this single dissonant sentiment that pushes against the hailstorm of lust pounding through his bloodstream.  
  
Maybe Kendall hears it, somehow, because he isn’t fighting anymore. He pushes his mouth up against James’s, soft and insistent, testing his tongue between the plush of James’s lips. He does not stop James from unbuttoning his jeans.  
  
There’s something insanely intimate about touching Kendall through the front of his boxers, because of the newness, because of the faith that Kendall’s putting in James. He hates public exposure, loathes the idea of anyone seeing him in a compromising position, but here, against the peeling bark of a eucalyptus tree, he allows James to strip parts of him bare. He trusts James to shield him against the cars blurring by, even as his fingertips dip beneath the soft cloth opening of his underwear. And James takes that trust without flinching, because with something important like this? He can’t remember ever letting Kendall down.  
  
James kisses him deep, swallowing down Kendall’s tiny gasps. He palms the head of Kendall’s cock, skin slipping against beads of precum, bitter and glistening. His knuckles scrape against fabric, brushing back against own dick, and god, yes, he’s hard. He groans and shifts his attention to Kendall’s jaw, biting out. Kendall whimpers and bucks up into James’s hand, smearing sticky wet against his heartline, his lifeline, the tiny scar he got from street hockey when they were eight.  
  
James snakes his fingers around Kendall’s cock, his grip confident, practiced, easy. He strokes down, learning the length of his best friend, each firm movement coaxing tiny noises from the beatbox of Kendall’s flushed throat. James ruts himself into the heated spaces between their bodies, each twitch of his hips finding a different place to land; the tight muscle of Kendall’s thigh, the indent of his hipbone, the molten warmth that has caught on the bunched fabric of his boxers and jeans.  
  
Crickets and cicadas chirrup and buzz. A car horn blares, some jackoff cat calling loud, bawdy words that are lost to the night. James doesn’t worry about it, even when Kendall stiffens. There’s no one else walking the street, and what can anyone in the sluice of cars see? Two boys, making out? Certainly not the short, jerky movements of James’s elbow, riling Kendall higher and higher until he’s wild with it, attacking  
James’s lips and forcing his own hands down the front of his jeans, ignoring the tight fit between his belt and his stomach. James can feel the shift of Kendall’s bones in his wrist when he finally grabs hold of his dick, his touch fizzing electric all over James’s body.  
  
He nibbles at the hinge of Kendall’s jaw, murmurs, “I’ve dreamt about your hands on me,” satisfied that it isn’t anything like a lie. He has had this dream, Kendall’s guitar-callused palms skidding against him in blazes of light, each brighter than the next behind his eyelids.  
  
Kendall sucks promises against his throat, harmonizes them with pleased encouragement and expectant moans. He’s vocal in little ways, telling James _yes_ , telling James _there_ , telling James _you’re_ \- and never finishing with what exactly James is. He grasps him tight and too experienced, reminding James that he knows his way around another guy’s cock, but that thought’s lost when Kendall’s breathing speeds up, his free hand digging into the muscles of James’s back hard enough to bruise. He’s fucking into James’s grip almost as fast as James can move his hand, and that desperation is hotter than it should be, the night air warming until it feels like the sun’s burning the back of James’s neck. He can feel Kendall practically trying to climb him, wants that, wants Kendall naked and in a bed, or maybe just on that lawn over there, that looks soft, and that’s how James comes; with Kendall painted in soft pink, violet, and burnished gold in front of him, real and fantasy at the same time, seeing him clothed, imagining him naked.  
  
It’s only after he comes down that he notices his own hand is wet and sticky. James licks Kendall’s cum away perfunctorily, missing the hungry way Kendall watches him until he’s done.  
  
Kendall buckles them both back into their pants, and when he’s done, his sticky fingers circle James’s wrist, rough and firm. He pulls, forcing them both to stumble away from the trees, backing away from their tiny haven and back out into the world. James is working himself up towards a pout when Kendall breaks into a run, carried away on the wind and the concrete.  
  
“Hey!” James yelps after him, giving chase instinctively, but Kendall has a head start, and he’s always been fast. He can’t catch up, he doesn’t catch up, until he trips over Kendall’s shoes, left in an unceremonious pile in the middle of the sidewalk three blocks away. James glances around wildly, confused as fuck.  
  
The wrought iron gate to an apartment complex is swinging open on rusty hinges, the pool behind it glowing jewel toned and lovely. Kendall bobs in the center, lean limbs glittering crystalline, and the whole tableau is framed; by birds of paradise in bluegreenorange, by fragrant wisteria and trees heavy with citrus, each plant more vibrant and alive than the next.  
  
James wanders up the path of terracotta tile and rich earth, his boots thudding loud, his heart pounding harder. He stands at the edge of the pool, breath held, cum drying against his stomach in white flakes and he feels too dirty for this place. Not on the outside, where he is sated, vibrant, awash in Kendall’s wide, happy grin, but in a deeper place. He can feel the ghost of Diana’s foot against his thigh, the sensation throbbing with the squeak of the gate hinges behind him. It’s unwelcome, he doesn’t want it, not here, not with Kendall.  
  
James shoves it down deeper, into the dark, secret place he has reserved for emotions that are useless. Then he shoves it deeper still and strips down to nothing. He focuses on here, on Kendall, on owning the night. He obliterates everything he doesn’t want with a single cannonball – and the raucous, uncontrollable shout of Kendall’s laughter.  
  


\---

On their first date, Diana showed up at the theater rain-bedraggled, with mud-flecked jeans. The other girls milling around the lobby, buying popcorn or thumbing over their phones, were immaculate, butterfly colors clinging to their skin, makeup un-smudged, hair carefully styled.  
And then there was this girl, sopping wet and inordinately beautiful.  
  
“Did you walk here?” James asked. He thought about kissing her cheek – he wanted it so hard he could taste rainwater on his lips, but they barely knew each other. It would be weird. And James lived in fear of this pretty, strange girl thinking he was weird.  
  
She grinned wide, her teeth flashing pearls. “My car’s junk. It broke down about ten blocks back.”  
  
Immediate guilt flooded his stomach. “You could have canceled.”  
  
She shrugged, her dark hair matted in pointed whorls against her pale throat. “I wanted to see what you’re all about, James Diamond.”  
Assuming a low tone, she commanded, “Don’t disappoint me.”  
  
James took that to heart. He was so desperate to impress her, to make her like him back, that he couldn’t pay attention past the opening credits. Halfway through the movie, Diana’s hand slipped into his. It was smaller and frailer than James expected, too soft to be real and too easy to break. He tried not to move, not to squeeze, not to sweat, because nobody liked a clammy hand-holder, nuh-uh, not at all.  
  
Thinking back on it, James acted like his first date with Diana was his first date ever. Maybe that’s why, at the end, she didn’t kiss him. She talked to him, perched on a bench in the theater lobby, for close to an hour after the flick, but when he went in for the kill, she flipped still-damp hair out of her eyes and weaved away.  
  
He thought he’d done something wrong, but her smile was no dimmer than it had been at the beginning when she said, “Next date, don’t invite the rain.”

\---

“You’re smiling. It’s creepy,” are the first words Gustavo says to Kendall and James when they walk into the studio.  
  
Sweat is soaking through the back of James’s shirt, sticking the fabric to his skin. The air conditioning of Rocque Records barely does anything to assuage the unbearable gluey feeling. He can’t wait to get into the darker cave-like rooms by the sound booth, where he’ll actually be able to enjoy the way Kendall is constantly touching him – on the shoulder, on the knee, a hand at his elbow or the small of his back or ruffling through his hair.  
  
James catches sight of his reflection on the glass protecting the glossy poster of the band. Gustavo’s right, he is smiling. There’s something intoxicating about being the center of Kendall’s attention, like standing in a spotlight of stars. These days, James is never smarter, funnier, more gorgeous than he is with Kendall’s brilliant green eyes on him, and it would probably be scary if he hadn’t spent such a huge part of his life vying for Kendall’s attention anyway. They all do it, even Logan and Carlos, because it’s Kendall. He’s always had this very special way of looking at people like they’re the only thing worth seeing.  
  
Ever since last night, Kendall’s been watching James like that to the power of oh, say, eight billion.  
  
“You’re smiling. It’s creepy,” Carlos says in a perfect imitation of Gustavo, accompanying the words with a quick jab to the ribs. James smacks him back, because he can. It quickly dissolves into a slap fight of epic proportions that Kendall and Logan observe with smug grins until Kelly intervenes, promising them juice boxes.  
  
They lay down two and a half songs before she delivers, grape sweetness pooling on James’s tongue. He doesn’t really need the fifteen minute break, but it’s nice to sprawl out on the leather couch in Gustavo’s office, his head pillowed on Logan’s lap, his legs tangled with Kendall’s, Carlos’s head a heavy weight against his own side. They get to be grade school levels of interdependent in Rocque Records.  
Braced by red and black walls and endless circles of gold, no one cares whether they grow up or not.  
  
“So how gay are you?” Carlos asks Kendall and James, cheeks hollow as he sucks on his juice. “On a scale of one to Liberace?”  
  
“We’ve seen Kendall in glitter spandex,” Logan pipes in. “So let’s go with Liberace.”  
  
Kendall chucks his empty juicebox at Logan’s head, droplets splashing over James’s face. He swats at them both, glaring.  
  
Logan pats James’s head in a placating manner and tells Carlos, “Dude, it’s not nice to Kinsey Scale other people’s gayness.”  
  
“’M just curious.”  
  
Voice fond, Kendall nudges Carlos with his sneaker. “’Bout? Ask away, Carlitos. We’ve got _all_ the answers.”  
  
He says it with suitable levels of majesty and jackassery, of course. James is totally unimpressed – he mostly has _all_ the _questions_ , like why he came harder in Kendall’s hands than he has in a long, long while.  
  
“’Kay.” Carlos sucks thoughtfully on his juicebox before asking, “Does butt-sex hurt?”  
  
James hacks and spits. His shirt now smells of grape.  
  
Logan’s stunned too, mouth is gaping open, but Kendall manages to school his disbelief into a careful mask of cool authority. He says, “At first, it kind of sucks. But then it gets better.” He takes a sip of juice, cutting his eyes towards James, whose cheeks are flaming. “A lot better.”  
  
Gaping wider, Logan mouths down at him, _Did you…?_  
  
James shakes his head vehemently. He almost forgot that Kendall isn’t new at this, at boys, and it makes all James’s limited experience feel really inadequate. The warm glow that’s lit his stomach all day dissipates.  
  
It doesn’t matter whether James impresses Kendall, probably. It’s not like they’re going to have a relationship, after, or anything.  
  
He works on convincing himself that the thick sourness in his mouth doesn’t taste like regret.  
  
“And what’s it like sucking another dude’s cock?” Carlos asks, completely pragmatic about it. Like this isn’t the most embarrassing conversation James has ever been a part of.  
  
He’s saved the humiliation of answering – or worse, hearing Kendall’s answer, because he so doesn’t want to know if his pretty pink lips have ever touched Jett Stetson’s dick – when Gustavo storms into his office, Kelly trailing in his wake.  
  
“Dogs,” Gustavo intones with the kind of gravitas that suggests at deep irritation. “I have a surprise for you.”  
  
“Is it Rocque Records’ Calendar of Nudes?” Logan asks, “Because that was the worst surprise ever.”  
  
James shudders. He’s never been able to figure out if he was more traumatized by Mr. Miyazaki, posed naked in front of a waterfall or Griffin, bareass naked, except for some nasty looking hunting gear.  
  
“Fortunately,” Gustavo says loudly, talking over Logan’s complaints, “No one asked me to undress this year.”  
  
“The calendar didn’t sell well,” Kelly mutters, looking plenty traumatized herself.  
  
Gustavo frowns at her, only barreling onward when Kendall clears his throat. “Your third track is going to feature a celebrity singer.”  
  
Carlos perks up. Gustavo crushes his dreams.  
  
“No, it’s not Jordin Sparks.”  
  
“Is it Leighton Meester? She’s hot on that Cobra Starship song,” Kendall says.  
  
“I’m down for Leighton Meester,” Logan pipes in.  
  
“Unless Leighton Meester has a penis, it’s not Leighton Meester.”  
  
The guys look at each other uneasily. She could. It is Hollywood, after all.  
  
James wracks his brain for local talent, coming up with a list eight miles long. Hollywood is one big fondue pot of creativity. The options are virtually endless.  
  
“How about Dak Zevon? What?” Carlos makes a face at the guys. “Dak’s cool.”  
  
“Dak, yeah, right, that’s why you wanted to know about buttsex,” Logan says under his breath, an easy tease that has Carlos leaping to his feet for a flying squirrel-tackle.  
  
“You are _all_ wrong.” Gustavo announces, trying to skewer them with the power of his glower. It doesn’t work; Gustavo grimaces in a way that suggests he rues his total lack of superpowers. “Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”  
  
“Right.” Kendall rolls his eyes, forever unflappable in the face of Gustavo’s melodrama. “Enlighten us already, then.”  
  
Less than pleased with the entire situation, Gustavo crosses his arms not very threateningly. He says, “Colossal Studios are trying to kickstart the singing careers of the actors on New Town High.”  
  
Kendall brightens quicker than a sodium light, joy flashing quick and fierce across his face. “Are we working with Jo?”  
  
James holds his breath and waits. Jo and Kendall’s breakup – and inability to make up – last year came out of left field. Or maybe not, knowing what happened between Kendall and Jett in DC. James thinks back, tries to remember if the trip took place before or after Jo left to film Chauncey Jackson and the Magic Gallows. After, he decides. It had to be after. Kendall’s not a cheater.  
  
Besides, Jo stuck it out with him for a long while after her less than triumphant return from New Zealand. If Kendall cheated on her, if she knew, they wouldn’t have managed to be obnoxiously happy together all those months. Not that James found their happiness offensive or anything.  
  
(There’s a spiky, urchin shaped creature in the pit of his stomach, _jealousy_ , or maybe just his body reminding him oxygen is not optional.)  
  
“No,” Gustavo says loudly, swiveling his head towards Kendall with horror-movie speed. Something must show in Kendall’s eyes, an emotion  
that James can’t suss out in profile, because abruptly, Gustavo softens his voice. “Jo’s working with Lucy Stone, over at the Colossal label. They’re doing a duet about girl power.”  
  
“We sing about how much we love girls. It’s totally the same thing,” Carlos argues.  
  
Logan smacks him, hard. “No it’s not.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” Kelly agrees, with way less hitting.  
  
“Who are we singing with?” Kendall demands, sitting up and untangling himself from James.  
  
James stares pointedly at the warmth seeping away from his knee and thigh, only vaguely interested in Gustavo’s answer now that he knows  
it’s not the former love of Kendall’s life. There are some cute girls on New Town High, but none of them constitute a legitimate threat to…to…  
  
He’s not really sure where he’s going with this line of thought, or why he cares if Kendall likes a pretty girl. He doesn’t, really.  
  
He totally doesn’t.  
  
James begins examining his cuticles, trying to prove to himself how completely disinterested he is in Kendall’s potential love life. He’s focusing so hard on a ragged edge of skin near his pinky that he’s not paying attention when Gustavo tells them, “The idiots running Colossal think it’s a good idea if _you idiots_ work with _Jett Stetson_.”  
  
“What?” Logan yelps, unsettling James’s head from his lap.  
  
Skull thunking against the edge of the couch, James glares balefully up at Logan. “What?” Then the name catches up to him. “Wait, _what_?”  
  
“Precisely what I said,” Gustavo booms, annoyance scrawled all over his face. He hates prissy Hollywood divas practically more than Kendall, and Kendall…  
  
Kendall isn’t saying anything.  
  
Sensing an impending tantrum, Kelly steps gracefully in front of Gustavo and his clenched fists. She totally misses James’s imminent snit-fit, but her calm-vibes are obviously meant to have a blanket effect. “Colossal requested we pair Jett with the band, but the decision’s sound. Griffin’s already signed off on it. And look, Jett has fantastic credentials – a large fanbase and a stellar reputation with our local investors.”  
  
“Have our local investors ever met Jett Stetson?” Logan grumbles.  
  
James points at Logan and nods, “Listen to Mitchell. He’s talking sense.”  
  
“Guys, this is a great opportunity. Jett’s…difficult, sure, but he’s a hit with your core demographic. Think of it this way – he’ll only be making you more famous.”  
  
“Can Jett even sing?” Kendall interrupts, the question mild, too curious. It’s the first reaction the news has gotten out of him, and it’s not at all the reaction James wants.  
  
Does he actually want Jett around?  
  
“No idea.” Kelly shrugs, forever pragmatic. “Frankly, the publicity we’ll get out of this is worth the hassle.”  
  
Gustavo makes an incensed noise.  
  
“It could be fun?” A Carlos-shaped traitor volunteers, wavering between Kelly and his best friends like the Brutus he is. James scowls at him so hard that his body blurs into the red background of Gustavo’s walls, punctuated by spots of metallic gold.  
  
“I’d rather get my teeth pulled,” Logan counters.  
  
“I’d rather shave my head,” James adds.  
  
“Carlos is right,” Kendall says, missing the sharp _in-what-universe_ look James shoots his way. “Jett’s not a bad guy. This could be fun.”  
  
He’s wearing his Challenge Accepted face, which bodes well for, um, nobody, but especially not for James. If Jett flounces in and sweeps Kendall off his feet, well.  
  
There goes the game.


	8. Chapter 8

Water slicks James’s biceps, his skin muted beneath the surface, fish-belly pale. Each stroke burns through his muscles, his shoulders tense as he rounds off his final lap.  
  
He flips. Everything dissolves into a barrage of bubbles. Then he’s off again, free, cartwheeling through the Palm Woods pool.  
  
Kendall’s waiting there in the shallow end, too fair to stand the constant barrage of the California sun. His cheeks grow pinker the minute. Man-made waves lap at his calves, deep blue and foamless, and more than anything James wants to reach out to him. To pull him underneath the waves and kiss his neck, the pudge of his belly, his scrawny thighs.  
  
But he restrains himself, because Kendall’s completely absorbed in conversation with one of the Jennifer’s, animated beyond the point of exuberance. James doesn’t want to chase that ridiculous smile away.  
  
Kendall’s been kind of…tense, since the announcement that they’d be working with Jett. He’s usually so cocksure, so quick to grin.  
Now he looks like a rescue dog prior to adoption; always waiting for the next slap.  
  
James, on the other hand, is anticipating it. He needs to talk to Jett about sex.  
  
Which are words he never thought he’d have to think about. Ever. Like in all of history.  
  
James ducks his head back under the water, trying to block out the noise; except most of it is his brain. It’s not something he’s used to, or likes very much. He blows bubbles out of his mouth, frustrated as fuck. He never should have let Diana talk him into this.  
  
Ever since the night before, his convoluted feelings about leading Kendall on have evolved into full on, complicated anxiety. He’s fretted over Kendall’s admission about liking James forever one too many times, re-analyzing every interaction they’ve ever had.  
What’s worse is now James wonders why he never noticed, or if he did, and just pushed it away.  
  
Because he’s beginning to feel like maybe he has always wanted Kendall; it’s like he’s rewriting his own memories, painting his history so that there was never a day when he didn’t want his best friend with his whole heart.  
  
But he can’t trust it. He doesn’t know if love is honestly what he’s experiencing. Maybe he’s projecting these feelings onto Kendall because of how very scared he is to lose him. There’s no way to find out until it ends.  
  
And god, James is terrified that it will end in the worst possible way. The problem, of course, with turning friends into lovers is that if you fail, you end up with no friends. He never thought losing Kendall was an option when he went into this. Not even in his wildest dreams.  
  
He also never thought Kendall could seriously be into him. James has been wrong about a lot of things, lately.  
  
He breaks the surface of the pool, gasping for breath. Overhead, the summer sky stretches long and watery blue, streaked through with wispy yellow-tinted clouds. The air tastes like smog and ash and the sickening sweet of too many flowers. They line the Palmwoods, tucked between cabanas and skeletal palms twisting spindle-like up, up, up.  
  
James inhales and exhales. He shuts his eyes against all this California.  
  
No more guilt.  
  
No more wondering.  
  
They’re meeting Jett at the studio in an hour. He’ll get to talk to him soon. After that, he’ll get Kendall to say those three little words, and then, Diana will be his. This will all be over.  
  
It’s such a relief, James thinks.  
  
He’s not sure why he’s dreading it so very much.

\---

  
There is steam around his feet, and James isn’t sure how much of it is just back-splash from the light rain and how much is actual condescension from how hot the pavement has been lately. Carlos, Logan, and Kendall walk jauntily beside him, pushing and shoving and jostling each other.  
  
James is beside them, but separate, wrapped up in his own thoughts. Kendall bumps their shoulders together, asking, “Nervous?”  
  
“What? No. Never.”  
  
“It’s just Jett.”  
  
“Yeah,” James says. “Just Jett.”  
  
Inside, he’s thinking about what Jett and Kendall’s first kiss must have been like; sloppy and reckless, full of anger and passion. He imagines the monuments of Washington D.C. standing vigil while Jett pushed Kendall back onto a hotel bed.  
  
It burns him up from the inside out. The air conditioning inside Rocque Records is a blast of cold air, shaking him out of his envy-filled reverie. The sight of Jett standing next to Kelly pushes him right back into it.  
  
Breezily, Jett walks right up and _hugs_ Kendall. Hugs him. Pretty tightly, too, muttering something under his breath that either makes Kendall blush or turn red from rage. It’s hard to tell.  
  
Then Jett turns on James, exclaiming, “James! I’m still better looking than you!”  
  
“In your dreams, Stetson.” James ignores the air kiss that Jett tries to give him, acknowledging, “You’re even more obnoxious than I remember.”  
  
“Jealousy gives you wrinkles, James.”  
  
He makes the rounds with the other guys, insulting Carlos and Logan in turn. After the pleasantries are out of the way, Kelly shepherds them into Gustavo’s office. True to form, Gustavo yells at them for no less than forty-five minutes straight. At one point, James is pretty sure his face starts turning blue.  
  
The duet sounds like it’s going to be a hot mess, but that’s how Gustavo works. He creates magic from chaos.  
  
They spend two hours memorizing the lyrics, which is harder for Jett than anybody else, because James is convinced Jett barely knows how to read. Say what you want about James Diamond’s IQ, but he’s at least literate.  
  
He’d never be able to read his lifestyle magazines, otherwise.  
  
After they’ve got some semblance of the song imprinted on their brains, they pile into the sound booth, where Jett enchants them all with his voice.  
  
“I can’t take it,” Carlos yells over the noise, “It sounds like a cat is murdering a manatee!”  
  
“Why would a cat be anywhere near a manatee?” Logan smacks Carlos across the helmet. “Cats hate water.”  
  
“Or maybe manatees hate land,” Carlos counters.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Exactly what?”  
  
“Manatees live in the water.”  
  
Carlos blinks. “No they don’t.”  
  
“Yes they do.”  
  
“No they don’t.”  
  
“Yes they do! Idiot.”  
  
James glances over his bickering friends’ heads towards Kendall, ready to share a conspiratorial look, like _do you see this shit_? Only Kendall is busy watching Jett yowl with a mixture of amusement, horror, and fondness that James hasn’t seen since he taught Jo to drive.  
  
This isn’t going to work at all.  
  
James waits until Gustavo calls a break, exhausted and possibly bleeding from the ears, and then he drags Jett bodily from the sound booth, ignoring Kendall, Carlos, and Logan’s protests. One hand on the back of Jett’s collar, the other forcibly pushing at the small of his back, James guides him down the maze-like halls of Rocque Records, searching for a quiet, private space.  
  
They round a corner and skid to a halt, because okay, yeah, this will work.  
  
Jett jerks away from him, incensed. “Enough with the manhandling! You’re not my masseuse. Although I am feeling tense, if you’d like to really give it a go.”  
  
“No,” James says flatly. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
“I’d assumed that is why you keep making mouth noises at me.” Jett slings himself across one of the plush leather couches in the distant corner of the Rocque Records that James has herded them into.  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, James sighs. This is going to suck. “Advice. I want advice.”  
  
He doesn’t actually want advice, per se. But there’s no other way to tell Jett that he’s a man with a plan, and that plan is quizzing him about his sex life with Kendall.  
  
“You want advice. From me?” Jett cocks an eyebrow. “That shirt needs to go.”  
  
“Not that kind of advice,” James says hastily.  
  
His shirt is ah-mazing.  
  
“Lady trouble?” Jett practically purrs.  
  
“As if.” James wrinkles his nose. This is a terrible idea. He knows it’s a terrible idea. He just can’t think of a single time something being a terrible idea ever stopped him. “You slept with Kendall.”  
  
For a beat, Jett’s eyes widen, white all around a ring of iris.  
  
He recovers quickly. “So he’s bragging about it.”  
  
“Yeah, no. Not so much.” James snorts.  
  
“I’m not surprised.” Jett completely ignores his objection. “I’m fantastic in bed.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it.”  
  
Smugly, Jett retorts, “Take Kendall’s.”  
  
James disregards his dark impulse to slug Jett in the jaw, because you can attract more flies with honey, or so he’s told. Instead he says bluntly, “That’s the part I want to talk to you about. Kendall and I are together, now.”  
  
Jett stares at him.  
  
Barreling on, James says, “When I fuck him, I want it to be better than anything he’s ever had. Tell me what you did, the first time.”  
  
“So you can make it better?” Jett quirks an eyebrow.  
  
James folds his arms across his chest. “Exactly.”  
  
For at least a second, he thinks that he and Jett are seeing eye to eye on this. Then Jett opens his big, fat mouth and says, “See, the problem with that is Kendall is mine.”  
  
“ _Excuse_ you?”  
  
“I licked him, he’s mine. Man Code dictates this to be true.”  
  
“He’s not food.”  
  
“You’ve clearly never licked him,” Jett replies knowingly. “And I bet he’s never licked you.”  
  
James abruptly thinks that he doesn’t want to stick his dick anywhere Jett Stetson’s has been, but the thought comes with too much guilt, because this is Kendall, and he wants him with a depth and flavor that he didn’t know was possible.  
  
“Jett, come off it.” He runs his fingers through his hair, sticky with product. “I’m serious.”  
  
“You think I’m not?”  
  
“I think you’re trying to fuck with my head.”  
  
Jett snorts.  
  
“If I was trying to fuck with your head, I’d tell you exactly what you want to know. I’d tell you what kind of noises Kendall made when I was inside him, and how he was begging for it. I’d tell you we tried every position we could, and that he always came. Every. Single. Time.” He pops his lips for punctuation. “But I’m not messing around. Kendall’s mine.”  
  
“Don’t you think maybe that’s something he would have mentioned when he agreed to date me?”  
  
“Please. He has no idea what he wants, or what he’s doing.” Airily, Jett waves his hand through the air, brushing away the very notion that Kendall could have something like free will. James hates him so, so much. “Kendall wants _me_.”  
  
“I want you to…do what, exactly?”  
  
James glances sharply to the left, where Kendall is casually leaning against the corner, arms crossed in a perfect imitation of James’s defensive stance. His expression is obscure – James can’t tell if he’s unhappy or just curious.  
  
“Private conversation, Kendork.”  
  
“It’s about me, Stetson.” Kendall frowns at James. “Gustavo wants us back in the sound booth. What’s happening here?”  
  
James opens his mouth.  
  
James closes his mouth.  
  
“He was asking me for tips on fucking you,” Jett inserts smoothly, with the appearance of someone who is thoroughly enjoying himself.  
  
Kendall doesn’t yell. He doesn’t say anything at all, other than, “Jett, you should go check with Kelly. I think she wants to change part of your solo.”  
  
James hopes she wants to cut part of Jett’s solo. Or all of it, preferably.  
  
“If I go talk to Kelly, I’ll miss all the exciting things that are about to happen here,” Jett replies brightly.  
  
“That’s pretty much the point.” Kendall grits his teeth. “ _Go_ , Jett.”  
  
He does, but only after making a real show about it, moaning and groaning and begging Kendall to tell him every single detail later, waggling his eyebrows at James all the while. When he finally vacates the quiet little nook, James tells Kendall, “You were naked with that.”  
  
“I’m repressing the memory,” Kendall says calmly. “What the actual _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“Trying to figure out why you would ever want to be naked with that,” James retorts, his temper blazing.  
  
“You really want to know?”  
  
“I really, really do.”  
  
“The first time? Because I was drunk. And stupid. Is that what you want to hear?”  
  
“You were drunk and stupid,” James mimics. He knows it’s a mean thing to say, because he himself hates getting too drunk. He hates the way it makes him loose-lipped and open, the way he can never remember what he’s said or what he’s done. He hates having vulnerabilities he’s never fully aware of until later, when people joke about it with a light elbow to his ribs, an arm around the shoulder like suddenly they’re buds. And he hates _hates_ how he never knows if he’s done something wrong until later, until it’s too late.  
  
James is a little bit of a control freak, in his own way.  
  
But that doesn’t stop him from saying, “And all the times after that?”  
  
“All the times after that it felt good, and I was lonely.” Kendall doesn’t drop his gaze. His green eyes flare with rage, but his voice is icier than a Minnesota sidewalk in midwinter. He says, “And it’s none of your damned business anyway.”  
  
Now James is really and truly mad. He retorts, “Sor- _ry_ for wanting to make it good for you! Whatever, you’re right. It’s not my business.” He can’t stop himself from adding, “Maybe you shouldn’t be my business, either.”  
  
Kendall’s mouth falls open, a perfect little pink ‘o’. And then he snaps it shut, recovering his wits too quickly for James to even feel bad. Dead level, he says, “Okay. Then I won’t be your business.”  
  
And then he turns on his heel and stalks back towards the sound booth.  
  
This is so not how James wanted any of this to go.

\---

  
They go hours without talking.  
  
It’s not the first time that’s happened; James and Kendall butt heads at least five times a week, and in some of those cases things escalate so badly that they’ll go a week, or two, or more. There was one time, a freak period between sixth grade and seventh, where they didn’t talk for six months. Not once. Not at all.  
  
They played on the same hockey team, went to the same school, but they didn’t say a single word to each other. And it all started with James’s parents, with the divorce, which Kendall called _a good thing_. With James telling him that he had no idea what he was talking about, because he didn’t even have a dad.  
  
Parents fuck up your life.  
  
But even then, during those six insufferable months, James knew that they’d gravitate back together again. He felt it in his bones. This time…he’s not so sure.  
  
He knows what he said really hurt Kendall. This is different from taking a jab at his family in retaliation for being hurt. This is a personal attack against the way he feels, the way he opened himself up to James. He trusted that his best friend wouldn’t handle his heart so haphazardly, and now James has just acted like it’s the easiest thing in the world to throw away.  
  
James is swallowing against guilt all through dinner. He barely touches his dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. Mrs. Knight keeps feeling up his forehead, asking, “James, honey. Is everything alright?”  
  
Then she looks at her son and murmurs, “I wonder if something’s going around.”  
  
“Yeah. Idiocy,” Logan mumbles under his breath. James hears him, but he doesn’t even bother trying to punish him for it. Like he is in most things, Logan is completely, one hundred percent correct.  
  
It really sucks donkey balls.  
  
\---  
  
Kendall’s silhouette graces James’s doorframe just as he’s getting ready to go to bed. He asks, “Can we talk?”  
  
“It’s a free country,” James replies, shrugging a ratty t-shirt over his head. He was about to dive into bed naked as the day he came, but his birthday suit probably isn’t appropriate attire for whatever discussion they’re about to have.  
  
Kendall’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“It was sweet. You asking Jett for advice. Wanting to make sex good for me. It was really sweet.” He cocks his head to the side. “Weird, too, but. It’s you. I expect weird from you.”  
  
James wants to tell him that he wasn’t trying to be intrusive, but he’s not as stupid as everyone thinks. He knows what he did was wrong. “I hate that there’s this big part of your life that you had to hide from me. We talk about sex with girls all the time, but this is a total mystery to me.”  
  
“I know.” Kendall strides into the room, taking a seat atop James’s bed. After a moment’s hesitation, James joins him. Their combined weight makes the springs creak in protest. “We share everything, and it sucks that I didn’t share this with you.”  
  
“You said you were ashamed.”  
  
Kendall winces. “There’s that.”  
  
Perceptively, James asks, “What else is there?”  
  
“I was scared you’d be jealous.” Kendall takes a deep breath. “I was also scared you wouldn’t be.”  
  
 _Third grade_ , James thinks again, for what must be the thousandth time.  
  
He admits, “I can’t remember ever being so jealous in my entire life.”  
  
Kendall gives him a rueful smile. “You make me feel that way, sometimes.”  
  
“When?” James asks, thinking of all the times he’s regaled the guys with stories of his hijinks, dates and bad kisses and good kisses and sex. He’s been throwing every single one of his romantic endeavors in Kendall’s face without even realizing it, for ages. It can’t have felt very good.  
  
“I felt like you were fucking with me. At the club. When I kissed you. I was so sure you were just trying to get a rise out of Diana.”  
  
James swallows. “I wasn’t.”  
  
“I know that now.” Kendall squeezes his hand. “I should have run away from you.”  
  
Like that’s even important. James’s heart is wide open, exposed, too vulnerable. He pulls his hand away, but only so he can throw his arms around Kendall’s neck and murmur against the skin of his throat, “I’m sorry I told you that you weren’t my business. You’re my best friend, man. You’re always going to be my business.”  
  
Kendall’s hands come up to clutch at James’s back, and _oh_. God.  
  
Everything with Diana was a storm. It sizzled through him.  
  
But this is a different kind of love to fall in, daybreak on the horizon and warmth that never quite leaves his bones. That’s what he has with Kendall.  
  
He feels safe in the circle of his arms.  
  
That’s such a _huge_ problem.  
  
James never realized that safety was a thing he needed to feel, because there’s never been a moment when Kendall wasn’t by his side. But now, just a few minutes past the fear that Kendall might never be a part of his life, ever again, he realizes that it is.  
  
And that it’s something all too easy to lose.  
  
Choking on a sob, he tells Kendall, “I’m so sorry. I’m _so,_ so sorry.”  
  
“Hey. It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.”  
  
Kendall rubs soothing circles against James’s shoulder blades, completely unaware that what he’s apologizing for hasn’t yet come to pass.


End file.
